Sleepwalker
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: COMPLETE. Jen and Ziva fly to Morocco to interrogate a terrorist while Tony recognizes a body NCIS is called to investigate. Established Tiva. Follows The Boy Who Lived.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Baaaaaaaaaa. Humbug.

Spoilers: I suppose I should just bite the bullet and accept that I wandered into AU territory many months ago. So, continuity diverges in early season 4 – actual NCIS spoilers are fairly safe from there on, with the exception of the McNovel. Series begins with _Locked_, continues with a bunch of stories that are listed in order in my profile and ends up here. So far. I have a funny feeling this will never end, unless rocks fall and everybody dies. That last part isn't a self-spoiler, by the way. This section makes me feel both egotistical and tired. I'm not pressuring you to go back and read from the beginning, just letting you know what's up – established Tiva, that's what. And there you have the super-oversimplified summary of the whole series.

Summary: Picks up right where _The Boy Who Lived_ ended – well, the morning after that story ended. While an intelligence op means Jen and Ziva are away, the boys will play. Or work, because that's what they do. They're investigating a curious dead body that Tony recognizes.

* * *

"I'm going to run upstairs myself, Dennis."

"Are you sure, Ma'am?"

"I'll just be a few minutes. Wait here."

Ignoring further protests from her driver, Jenny Shepard got out of the back of the black Town Car and walked up to the building just as a man was exiting, as luck would have it. She'd been wanting to see Tony and Ziva's new apartment and had the feeling that if she buzzed them, Ziva would just come down. Or perhaps not come down.

Jenny took a deep breath as she stepped out of the elevator and found the right door. She was running about twenty minutes late by design, hoping that she wouldn't interrupt their goodbyes – or anything else. After a few moments hesitation, she raised her hand and knocked lightly on the door. Tony opened it with a slight scowl. "Director Shepard."

"No need to be so formal, Tony."

He grunted and waved her in. "Ziva made French toast. She made some for _you_, too."

"Tony…" She was distracted when she looked around. "This is a nice place."

"Thanks." He walked into the kitchen. A plate clattered loudly as he dropped it on the counter. "Hungry?"

She stopped at the counter that parted the kitchen from the living room. "I really couldn't…"

"I made extra for you, Jen," Ziva said, her voice carrying down from upstairs. "And I made it with homemade challah, so you can't say no."

"Well…" She had eaten a light breakfast before leaving home, but there was a tempting smell hanging in the air. "All right."

"I'll get it." Tony yanked a towel off a plate sitting by the stovetop and stabbed a few pieces of the golden French toast with a fork, transferring them to the plate he'd taken out. Jen tried to ignore the fact that he shoved it roughly into her hands as he walked past. "Coffee?"

"Please."

He had just smashed a coffee cup on the counter, miraculously not breaking it, when Ziva appeared at the base of the stairs, carrying a small suitcase. "Good morning, Jen."

"Good morning." She sat on one of the high stools in front of her and shoved a piece of the warm bread into her mouth to prove she was eating it; it was delicious. "Fank oou…" She took a moment to swallow. "Thank you. You didn't have to make anything."

"Not a problem." She dropped her suitcase by the sofa and circled around the counter. "Didn't you want syrup?"

"Oh, I…"

"Here." The bottle bounced on the counter as Tony tossed it in her general direction and Jenny had to reach out to prevent it from sailing into the living room. He was more careful but no less surly with the cup of coffee he placed in front of her. She decided it was best not to ask for milk and sugar.

Ziva frowned at him but said only, "Would you mind pouring me a cup?" Jenny noted that he placed it in front of her very gently, not sloshing any over the rim. "Thanks."

"Hmmm." He moved to stand behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"Not hungry."

"Liar."

He smiled and buried his face in her neck. Jenny half-turned in her seat to avoid looking at them and said, "I like this apartment. Very open. Is it just the master suite upstairs?"

"Yes. I'd offer you the tour, but it is a bit of a mess up there at the moment." She smirked at Tony, who smirked back until his gaze drifted to Jenny and became a death glare. Apparently learning from Gibbs carried far beyond investigative skills.

She finished her French toast and coffee quickly, not wanting to prolong the awkwardness. "Ziva, we should probably get going."

She nodded and turned to face Tony, who rested his forehead against hers. "I'll be back in a week." He didn't relax his embrace as she tried to pull away. Jenny noted that she wasn't putting much effort into it either and stood to emphasize her desire to depart. She felt a slight twinge of regret for forcing them to separate, even for a week, given what they'd been through in the past – year? Had they really been together for over a year? She blinked. There was no reason for her to feel bad. She was taking a qualified agent on a legitimate mission, any co-dependence notwithstanding.

Ziva's hands slowly moved up Tony's chest and around the back of his neck as she nuzzled his cheek. "It's only a week."

"On a super spy mission," he sulked, holding her even tighter.

Jenny interrupted them as much to assuage some of the guilt she was unwillingly feeling as to remind them she was still there, "It's not going to be like it was with Tushkevich, Tony."

He tipped his head to the side, still not releasing his hold on Ziva. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"It's going to be fine. We're going to interrogate a prisoner and come back."

"Ziva! Need to know!" Jenny reprimanded.

She shrugged. "He needed to know, Jen. Would you mind giving us a moment?"

"Meet me at the car in five minutes." She waited in the hallway rather than leaving. What else had Ziva told Tony? She had never even considered the fact that Ziva might share sensitive information at home. It sure as hell wasn't a Moussad-approved practice. Jenny crossed her arms tightly and tapped her foot; it was going to be a long flight if she found out that love had made Ziva loose-lipped.

She appeared after the specified amount of time. "Didn't trust me?"

"I thought perhaps you two would lose track of time."

"Hmph." Tony pulled the door closed behind him, taking Ziva's suitcase in one hand and her hand in the other.

Jenny followed them into the elevator, no longer in a mood to indulge them. "There's no need to take this personally, Tony. Ziva is familiar with this particular case, so she's the best option for…"

"You could have read someone else in, Director," he spat.

"It isn't that simple," Ziva said before Jenny could reply.

"I just…"

"Please stop making this so hard." They passed through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. She kissed him, her fingertips resting on his cheeks. "I love you."

"Please don't go. I have a bad feeling."

"Everything will be fine. I'll be home in a week." She rose to her tiptoes to kiss his bowed forehead. "I have to go now."

He sighed heavily as he let her go. She picked up her suitcase and moved toward the car, but he suddenly pulled her into his arms again. "Sorry. Forgot to tell you I love you."

"As if I need reminding."

Jenny cleared her throat and got into the car as they kissed a final time. Tony remained on the sidewalk looking dejected when they finally pulled away. She allowed a few blocks to pass in silence before saying, "He seems very…needy."

"He is worried. And frightened. As far as he's concerned, if I leave the country, I'll need surgery." She gave a few mirthless snorts of laughter. "For the record, I agree with him."

"You're planning to get shot?"

"No. I also have a bad feeling. Mine happens to be about you, though."

"Ziva…"

"What will you do if Sahrawi does not remember you?"

Jenny saw her both her opening and an excuse to change topics. "What's Tony opinion on it?"

"Why would he have an opinion?"

"Oh, well, I just thought since you were so quick to share details about this mission with him…"

"I couldn't leave him worrying about nothing for a week."

"You gave classified information to…"

"A sworn federal agent? Who do you think he is going to tell?" Ziva gave Jenny a look she hadn't seen in quite some time, the one used on their missions when Jenny had asked a question she probably should have know the answer to. "He doesn't know anything that Gibbs can use against you."

"I _never_ said…"

"Do you want to know exactly what I told him? He knows we are going to Morocco to interrogate one of the men Dmitri was planning to sell me to when we were kidnapped. He doesn't know why _you_ are so eager to confront Sahrawi, nor would I ever tell him or anyone else about Cairo." Ziva looked her in the eye. "I do not think this will accomplish what you hope."

Jenny decided to ignore the idea that the entire agency would be gossiping about her personal vendettas. "And what do you think that is?"

"Is it something you want to discuss in front of your driver, or should we wait until we are on the plane?"

She frowned. "We'll wait."


	2. Chapter 2

Tony sighed heavily and put his head down on his arms. After a moment, he jerked his head up, but it was no good. Ziva's desk was still unlit and unoccupied, just as it had been since he'd arrived at work. He had tried to go back to bed after she'd left, pretending she wasn't there because she was on her morning run. He hadn't been able to fool himself that she would be back any moment, so he'd gotten up, devoured the pile of cold French toast in the kitchen and driven her car to the office in the hopes of finishing his paperwork on the Nelson case.

Instead of attending to the uncompleted documents in front of him, he put his head back down and daydreamed, smiling as he remembered the previous night. It had been incredible, she had been incredible, and, if her reactions were any indication, he'd been pretty incredible himself. It had also been…different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew it was there. It had been like that on a few occasions with Ziva. He wasn't sure what it meant, just that he liked it and was a little confused by it. He looked up again, but his desire for her to be at her desk, great as it was, wasn't enough.

McGee looked at him curiously as he walked past. "You're in early, Tony."

He checked his watch. "No I'm not."

"Maybe I'm just so used to you being late that it seems strange when you're on time," McGee replied with a smirk.

"Ha ha. How long have you been waiting to use that one?"

"Um…"

"Yeah, thought so. Skulk to your desk, Probie."

"Which one is my desk?" Tony and McGee both looked to the entrance of the bullpen, where a tall, lanky guy in a cheap suit was standing, holding a stack of books and papers. He diverted his eyes nervously when Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "Sorry. I thought you were talking to me."

"And who are you?"

"I'm George Sampson. I'm starting today here and I'm supposed to report to the head of the Major Case Team." He met Tony's gaze for a moment before looking away again. "Are you Agent Gibbs?"

Tony grinned as he saw a sudden way to lighten his mood, but didn't get the chance as Gibbs stepped out of the elevator with his morning coffee. "He's just walking in now."

Gibbs stopped in front of Sampson, who tried to step to the side but was impeded by the partition. "You the new probie?"

Tony stood up as Sampson nodded and said, "Boss, why didn't you tell us we were getting a new puppy?"

"I found out this morning. The Director apparently thought it would be more appropriate to call me at home before 0600 and inform me of the situation." He looked Sampson up and down suspiciously. "Settle in and have DiNozzo and McGee brief you on the case they're writing up."

Tony watched Gibbs walk down the hallway that led to Personnel. Interesting to note that Jenny was screwing with everyone's lives this morning – unless the new probie was supposed to be a distraction from Ziva's absence. He glanced at her desk again, but she stubbornly refused to pop out of thin air, smiling at him and inviting him into the elevator for…

He shook his head and turned his attention to McGee, who was making nice with the new guy. "Gibbs just has very high expectations for all of us. You'll get used to him."

"Yeah, like our last one," Tony scoffed. "How long was it before Andrews shipped to San Diego?"

McGee gave him an admonitory look, while Sampson gave him a terrified one. He eventually glanced around and asked, "Is this my desk?"

"No!" Tony shot across the aisle to prevent Sampson from even putting his stack of papers on Ziva's desk. No replacements, not even mistaken ones, were happening on his watch. "You're at the end."

"Sorry." Sampson hung his head and moved to the small desk at the end of the aisle, partially blocked off from the main bullpen by a partition.

Tony remained by Ziva's desk, carefully disarranging some papers to make it look like she'd just stepped away for a moment. McGee sidled up to him and whispered, "Don't be so hard on him. He's new."

"You really think the wallflower is going to last?" He circled the desk and sank into her chair, rifling through her drawers in search of the GSM he was pretty certain she'd filched.

"He does seem pretty tentative."

"He's like a more awkward Palmer with no glasses. Aha!" Finding the magazine was less of a triumph than he'd hoped. He turned his attention back to the new guy and said in a conversational voice, "I give him two weeks, less if Gibbs needs another root canal." He finished making Ziva's desk look more occupied by clicking her lamp on and returned to his own seat.

McGee followed him, still whispering to prevent his reservations from being overheard. "I think I would have preferred having Andrews around. At least she didn't act like she was scared of _us_."

"Don't be ridiculous. She was terrified of Ziva and Gibbs."

"Well…she was pretty."

Tony let his own opinion on Andrews' looks slide, instead saying, "Yeah, but what kind of novel mileage would you have gotten out of her? Now we can look forward to McGregor hazing new probie Geoffrey Sanderson."

McGee looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, "Tony, don't tell him about that. I'm asking you as a friend…"

"Relax, Probie. I still like you better than him. So far."

Gibbs suddenly strode back into the bullpen, snapping his phone shut. "Gear up."

Tony allowed himself a groan of frustration. "But we just resolved the Nelson case yesterday! Don't we get a break, at least until the paperwork is done?"

"I don't make up the schedule for when dead bodies pop up in our jurisdiction, DiNozzo." Tony flinched as Gibbs' hand came up, but the smack he was expecting didn't come. "Gas the truck."

"Where we headed?"

"Pax River Naval Air Station. Dead body turned up just over the fence."

"Dump job?"

"We're not gonna find out unless we go check it out, DiNozzo." He walked out without providing any further information.

Tony picked up the keys Gibbs had dropped on his desk and clipped his holster to his belt. "All right, Sammy, you're with us."

Sampson buttoned his jacket and adjusted his ugly tie. "Er, my name is George."

"Look, it'll get too confusing if we've got two Probies, and since Probie was here first…you get to be Sammy. Sampson, Sammy, you should be able to remember that, right?" Tony clapped McGee on the shoulder as they walked to the elevator, glancing over his shoulder at Sampson. "And you don't get to call Probie 'Probie,' either."

* * *

"Well, yeah. She snores, she kicks and she does this weird thing where she wraps all the covers around herself like she's making a cocoon while she sleeps and I wake up shivering because I've got nothing, but I can't get them back without waking her. Then _she_ gets annoyed with _me_!"

McGee wasn't sure why he'd thought that telling Tony that Ziva's brief absence would result in him getting more sleep, but he was discovering that the only thing worse than hearing about their sex life was hearing about their regular life. Well…maybe not. More tedious, but less discomfiting, anyway. He made a mental note not to attempt humor regarding Tony and Ziva on any level beyond their working relationship. Maybe Agent Tommy would catch a cold after suffering through a night of Officer Lisa's sheet-stealing…

He pushed the image out of his head as he checked the GPS. "Next left, Tony."

"You mean where they have the big NAS Patuxent River sign? Or where Ducky just turned? Or maybe the…"

"Yeah. Fine." McGee didn't bother defending his directions, knowing that if he hadn't said anything, Tony would have missed the turn and blamed him for saying nothing. Getting a new probie should have relieved some of the normal sarcasm burden, but Ziva's departure had resulted in an increase that covered both McGee and Sampson. Really, it was a good thing Director Shepard had assigned them a new probie, or he, McGee, would really be suffering. Had she thought of that? He smiled as he realized that maybe he was making a better overall impression than he'd thought.

"Thinking about computers?"

"What?"

"You're grinning like an idiot, McGiggle."

He puffed up, remembering that he was possibly the Director's new favorite. After Ziva. And Gibbs. "Are you gonna be like this until Ziva gets back?"

"Y'know…we're here."

"Sorry, Tony, I didn't mean…"

"I know, Probie." They got out of the cab of the truck and walked around to the back. "I should really be exerting my energy on breaking in our probie." He pulled open the rear door. "Sammy! Enjoy the ride?"

Sampson exited the truck shakily, but nodded. "Agent DiNozzo, could I possibly ride in the front on the way back? There was space in the middle," he suggested eagerly.

"No can do, Sammy. That's Officer David's seat. And besides, I don't know how comfortable you'd be as the filling in a full fledged agent sandwich."

"Oh. It's just that…"

"You'll be fine, kid. Here." Tony shoved all the bags into Sampson's arms, grabbing only a camera for himself. "Got those?"

"Er, sure."

When he staggered under the weight after the first few steps, McGee took pity. "Give me one of those."

"Thanks."

"Don't take it personally. Tony, I mean. He's a fraternity guy, so he habitually hazes the new guy."

Sampson looked at him apprehensively. "Does it last long?"

"It…" McGee reflected for a moment. "It becomes more friendly. He's got some other things going on at the moment, though, so don't hold it against him."

"Is Officer David the same as the Ziva you were talking about on the way here?"

"Yes." He was about to go into more details when he realized that he didn't know anything about this new teammate. "Um, just drop those there and we'll check the perimeter."

"McGee!" Gibbs shouted. When he moved under the tape, Gibbs added, "Not you, Sampson. Stay there."

McGee gave him a sympathetic smile before joining Gibbs and Tony beside the body, which had been covered in a white sheet. There was already a news crew setting up across the street, having been shooed away from the fence by MPs. Without speaking, they formed a human barrier as Ducky pulled back the sheet, revealing the naked corpse of a young woman. "Hmm. No obvious wounds or signs of trauma. She appears to have some healed injuries on her head and torso. These marks here," he indicated some nasty looking scratches, "were likely post-mortem, perhaps made by the barbed wire at the top of the fence there."

"We'll check it," Gibbs said. "DiNozzo, see if someone on this base can get us a ladder. Wasn't dump job your idea?" He looked up from his notes when Tony didn't move. "Something wrong, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah. I think I know her."

McGee looked at him in alarm. "She's not an old girlfriend, is she?"

"No. I think she's Comatose Bridget."


	3. Chapter 3

Ziva sipped her coffee and leaned back in her cushy leather seat. Even with Jen in such a bad mood, it was worth flying in the private jet. Only Tony on top of her – or under her – on the couch could possibly make things better. Of course, after the night they'd spent, he'd probably be a little too tired to satisfy her again. She smiled as she allowed her head to loll on the padded headrest. Aside from the occasional aberrant occurrence, she always enjoyed sex with him, but last night was…she sighed happily with the memory.

"What?"

She looked at Jen. "What?"

"You said something."

She couldn't help smiling again. "I was thinking about Tony."

"You need to be more careful with him."

"I've already told you that I did not tell him about Cairo, Jen. I'm not going to tell anyone." She reached forward to turn one of the seats around as a footrest. "Why do you think that everyone knows what happened?"

"I don't. I just…my partner died." Jen looked at her with an angry glint in her eye. "How would you feel if that happened to Tony?"

"Are you telling me you were in love with Lavoie?"

"You know that Curtis and I were just friends and colleagues. What happened in Cairo was…"

"Awful. I know. You were kidnapped, raped and forced to remain in a cell in full view of your partner's corpse for three days. Why do you think confronting Sahrawi will fix any of that?"

"I was not raped." Jen tried to stare her down.

Ziva decided that feigning surrender was the best course and looked away. She swallowed her pride and clear memory of the medical report, answering, "My mistake."

"Yes." A few moments passed with only the hum of the engines audible. "Why did you tell Tony where we're going and what we're doing?"

"I told you, I couldn't just let him worry for a week." She ran her hand through her hair, brushing it off her forehead. "He would have made himself crazy."

"He's changed you."

"Yes," she conceded, "for the better."

"You think it's for the better that you're releasing classified information?"

"He isn't going to tell anyone anything worthwhile, even if he does tell Gibbs where we're going."

"Why do you keep coming back to Gibbs?"

"He's the one you don't want to find out that you've taken on this mission for personal reasons."

"I told you I wasn't…"

"Fine. That does not change your desire to avenge your partner." Ziva finished her coffee and stretched her arms over her head. "You care what Gibbs thinks and you do not want him to see a weakness."

She waited for Jen to rebuff the statement, but she was staring out the window. She suddenly stood and walked to a cabinet, where she retrieved a liquor bottle and two glasses. "You don't know how it feels."

As the thing she really couldn't identify with seemed to be a closed subject, Ziva addressed what she suspected Jen meant. "To lose a teammate and friend? Are you joking?"

"To see it happen and not be able to do anything about it!"

She was about to reply with a long list of things that Moussad would likely not want her sharing when the phone mounted on the cabin wall rang. Jen answered, "Yes…Who?…Put it through." She hung up and turned to Ziva, beckoning her to the small conference table. "There's a satellite call coming through from MTAC. Do you know how to get it on the screen?"

She shrugged and pressed a button beside a blinking light on the console. Tony's smiling face appeared immediately. "Hey!"

Jen frowned severely. "Agent DiNozzo, if you're abusing federal resources to call…"

"I'm not!" he interrupted her. "Well, it's true that I'm trying to call Ziva, but it's related to the case we just got this morning." He turned to someone off-screen. "Can you put that picture up?" A photo of a dead woman on gravel replaced the image of MTAC. "Look familiar?"

Ziva didn't hesitate. "Corporal Bridget Flannery, my hospital roommate when we arrived home from Rota after…well."

"Ha! I told McGee it was Comatose Bridget, but he didn't believe me!" Tony reappeared on the screen. "Do you remember where she went after she left Bethesda?"

"Our Lady of…something." She searched her memory. "Peace, maybe? It was a long-term care facility in Baltimore. Can't you get this information from the hospital?"

"This way seemed, uh, faster?"

"And you needed Ziva to confirm her identity even though her fingerprints would be on file?" Jen asked, looking less than amused.

"Well…I…we thought it would be helpful to get some background as quickly as possible and before you got to, uh, your destination and got too busy to, uh…" He scratched his head. "So…Officer David. Can you tell me anything about Cpl. Flannery's family or friends?"

She smiled at his sudden forced formality. "Parents, several siblings, various other family members – they seemed to live somewhere close, as they visited quite often. They also seemed a bit racist, though I do not know if that was a direct result of Comatose…Cpl. Flannery's condition. They, oh, they hated her boyfriend. He tried to visit once and they had him thrown out. He made a deal with the nurses and came back after hours. We spoke for a while."

"You never told me that." Jen cleared her throat and Tony continued, "I mean, can you recall his name?"

"Coleman McCormick. I believe he was some sort of construction worker."

Tony finished jotting down the name and looked up again. "Well, thank you, Officer David. You've been very helpful. Will we be able to contact you again if the need arises?"

"She'll call you when she gets the chance, Tony," Jen said, still frowning at the screen.

"Uh, right, well…hope your flight is going well, Director." He grinned at Ziva, but the feed was terminated before he could say anything more.

She turned to look at Jen. "I found the 'end' button. I can't believe Gibbs authorized that call."

"It was relevant to their investigation. And Tony can be very…" her thoughts flashed through a catalogue of incidents, "…persuasive."

"I'm sure he can." Jen stood and returned to the seat where she had left her glass. She poured herself a generous drink and returned to watching the ocean pass.

Ziva didn't find the same solace in watching the blank sea and occasional wisp of cloud. She swiveled a chair around and sat at the table. Checking her watch, she noted that the flight was going to last for at least three more hours. And that it was far too early to be drinking. She decided that one sympathetic but classified story…could still be too much. She pushed the image of an old friend's severed head in a box from her mind and said, "We used to be friends, Jen."

"We are friends." She sipped her drink and looked up with a smile. "Why do you think I assigned a new probationary agent to the Major Case Team, starting today?"

"Really?"

"I'm hoping he'll keep them busy." Jen held up her bottle, but Ziva declined with a sharp movement of her head. "It's early, I know. I just…I'm so close to making them pay for what they did. I have to do this and finish it and just…move on."

"You make it sound so easy."

"I…I know it isn't. And I know you've lost friends. I don't believe that you don't understand, I just…Curtis was _my_ partner. I was senior. I should have…I should have seen something to prevent us from being captured, or done something to save him, or…"

"Or we should have acted faster or noticed that our surveillance post was compromised or…" Ziva took a deep breath. "You can't beat yourself up over the things you cannot change, Jen. Lavoie is gone, but you survived. And now you're the Director of NCIS and giving _me_ orders."

Jen smiled as she looked away. "Does that bother you?"

"Not particularly. My life hasn't exactly gotten worse since I moved to Washington."

"I suppose you have made some major life changes." She became serious again. "I didn't mean to frame your attitude toward Tony in a negative way. I trust you enough to know when to stop talking. I just meant that you never worried about leaving someone behind before."

"He's…special. I can't really explain it."

"Have you started making wedding plans yet?"

Ziva played with her engagement ring with her left thumb, twisting it back and forth on her finger and watching it sparkle. "Not yet. We are not in any rush."

"You could have fooled me." Jen smiled and broke into a laugh. "If someone had told me five years ago that Ziva David was going to settle down, with an all-American guy, no less…"

"I am sure you would be just as shocked as I would have been to hear that _I_ would be working for _you_."

They shared a brief laugh before Jen became reflective again. "Do you really think Sahrawi won't know how to get to Safad?"

"I highly doubt he will," Ziva answered honestly. Seeing Jen's face fall, she added, "But anything is possible. After all, you mentioned Tony and I…"

"I'm happy for you two."

"Thank you."

Jen finished her drink and held up the bottle before apparently reconsidering and putting it down. "Don't think that means he isn't in trouble for calling you from MTAC for no reason."

"He was investigating…" Ziva found that she couldn't think of a very convincing reason for the team back home not to have discovered the information she'd provided in an expedient manner. "Are you going to charge him for it, then?"


	4. Chapter 4

Tony tapped his fingers rhythmically on the car door, waiting for the red light to turn green. He was about ready to smack McGee to stop his running commentary about the city. Soon they would cross the state line and he could…blather on about another city he knew nothing about. Tony was really regretting his decision to allow Sampson to accompany them to Our Lady of Peace Nursing Home in Baltimore – as if it had been his decision in the first place. Gibbs was probably sitting back, drinking coffee and perfectly happy to be sitting at his desk, waiting for Ducky or Abby to call him down to hear about…

"Our cases often take us across state lines and…"

"Out of DC!" Tony interrupted, gunning the engine off the line and beating the car next to him handily. "Not to mention that fact that Pax River is in Maryland and now we're…" he paused dramatically as they approached a welcome sign, "in Maryland again! Wow, this must be how the Pope feels when he runs to Rome for a gallon of milk!"

"Yeah, sorry for trying to help our new teammate get adjusted to…"

He cut McGee off again, "I think Sammy could learn everything _you're_ telling him from the agency website, McGoogle. Did they give you an orientation spiel, Sammy? Maybe take you on a tour and recommend which classes most freshman take?"

In his peripheral vision, he could see McGee twisting around in his seat to face Sampson. "Don't take it personally. He's just in a bad mood because…"

"I'm not in a bad mood, Probie." He grinned and gave him an exaggerated wink. "You'd understand that no man could be in a bad mood if he'd done what I did last night."

McGee groaned in what Tony could only interpret as jealousy cleverly disguised as disgust. "How much longer until we get there?"

"About twenty minutes, which is hours shorter than…"

"Stop!"

Tony saw an opportunity for a quick change and said, "What? The drive to Baltimore _is_ hours shorter than the one to Norfolk we had to make for that case when…do you not want me to talk about past cases? Because I thought we were trying to explain to our new teammate that we sometimes have to do a lot of traveling and…"

"Fine, I get it." McGee was still looking at him suspiciously, but lapsed into silence.

Sampson finally broke it, asking, "Agent DiNozzo, are you involved with Officer David?"

"Yeah, but Temperance Chastity Goodfaith McGee doesn't like to hear about it, in spite of the fact that he's included it in…"

"Tony!"

He grinned, made a hard left, causing McGee to have to catch himself to prevent being slammed against his door, and continued "…his MySpace page, which contains some pretty damn embarrassing stuff. I'm sure he'll be happy to friend you, Sammy, if you share his interests in online gaming and being the perfect son."

"How many times to I have to tell you that I only started that page to keep in touch with family?"

Tony rolled his eyes before looking into the review and addressing Sampson, "Why are you interested in my relationship with Ziva?"

"Oh, I didn't mean…I just thought…because…"

"Spit it out before I have to start calling you Stammer-y!"

"Sorry. I was just trying to ask if that means it's all right to date co-workers," he said very quickly.

Tony narrowed his eyes, staring into the mirror. "No, you can't date Ziva."

"I think he was asking a more general question, Tony," McGee said superciliously. "Right, Sampson?"

"Er, yes. I've never even seen Ziva, so…"

"Officer David," Tony corrected, still feeling a little paranoid. If she were going to leave him – which she wasn't – it wouldn't be for some snot-nosed little probie. Of course, this morning she'd left him for Jenny, but…oh. Oh! Oooooh!

"Officer David, right. And I wouldn't ever steal a woman from…"

He shook himself out of his fantasy long enough to interrupt Sampson, "Wouldn't or couldn't?"

"Tony…"

"Let him answer, Probie."

"No, Tony, we're here."

"Oh. Right." He looked up and saw that they were just about to pass the parking lot of the nursing facility. He made another McGee-slamming turn and parked in the first open spot he saw. "Okay. Sammy, when we get in there, you just stay quiet and let McGee and I ask all the questions." He walked confidently up the walkway, but stopped with his hand on the door handle. "Hey, why did you ask about dating co-workers?"

Sampson's ears reddened as he answered, "I just met someone in the elevator this morning."

Tony slapped him on the back. "Good luck with that." Ignoring McGee's surprised expression, he opened the door and waved both agents in ahead of himself.

It turned out to be a good decision, as they were immediately accosted by a white-haired woman in a flowery nightgown. "They keep telling me my grandkids wouldn't visit, but here you are! Here you are!" She was pinching Sampson and McGee's cheeks with a force Tony wouldn't have thought a person so frail and wrinkly possessed. "Oh, Reginald, you're such a handsome young man! And you, Herbert! My, you're so skinny, you should eat something!"

Tony slipped past with his cheeks unassailed and tapped on the shoulder of the first uniformed person he saw, a frazzled, middle-aged woman. "Hi, I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS." He flashed his ID with a practiced wrist flick. "We're looking for some information on a patient here."

The woman looked at him blankly for a moment. "We?"

"Oh, my colleagues are a little too polite for their own good." He glanced over his shoulder and saw that both men were still captives. "She seemed to think…"

"Greta!" the uniformed woman shouted, bustling down the hall. "You get back to the day room and stop bothering these nice young men!"

"My grandkids finally came to visit!"

"You don't have any grandchildren, Greta." The nurse pulled Greta's hands off the agents' faces. "Leave these men alone and go back to the day room. _The Price is Right_ is on."

Greta dutifully shuffled away, muttering to herself. The nurse led McGee and Sampson back to where Tony was standing. "I'm so very sorry for that. Alzheimer's , dementia, it never ends here. Now what can I help you with?"

Tony scrunched up his nose as a cart of food that smelled like death was wheeled past. "We need to speak with someone who can give us some information about Bridget Flannery. She was a patient here."

"Flannery, hmmm. Doesn't ring a bell." A commotion in a room on the right suddenly drew the nurse's attention. "If you just head down this hall, you'll see a sign for the administrative offices! They should be able to help you." She ducked into the room, saying, "Mr. Dowdy, please! Nothing is going to come through the television and attack you!"

Tony took a deep breath, which he regretted when the weird nursing home smell pervaded his senses, and looked at McGee and Sampson. "Right. Let's just find someone who can give us what we need and get out of this place. It makes me uncomfortable being around all these old people."

"Poor you," McGee muttered, rubbing his cheek.

* * *

Gibbs strode into Autopsy just in time to hear ducky say, "One would have thought you'd suffered enough, dear girl."

"What've you got, Duck?"

"Ah, Jethro. It appears our Cpl. Flannery was in none too enviable a state before she appeared on the Navy base. According to her medical records…"

"You got her records?"

"Of course. Once we had confirmed Tony and Ziva's identifications with the fingerprints…"

"Right. So how'd she die?"

"The ultimate cause? Mortar attack."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "In DC?"

"Well, I believe she was at a facility in Baltimore, but…"

"Are you making this more complicated than it needs to be?"

"Hm. There are some days when I'm sorely concerned for you imagination, Jethro. The fact of the matter is she was likely never going to recover from the injuries she sustained in Iraq. Her family refused to have her taken off life-support, in spite the fact that she had only minimal brainstem function and a highly questionable passed apnea test. At this point, it appears that someone simply pulled the plug, as it were."

Gibbs frowned. "How do you rule the cause of death in a case like this?"

"While it is true that she would still be technically alive if life-support were connected… I think perhaps this is something that's more of a legal issue than a medical one. Assuming that whoever pulled the plug was the same person who dumped her body at Patuxent River, he or she must have thought what they were doing was wrong and was seeking to cover it up."

"Big assumption, Doctor."

"And we know how you feel about that. I do think that…"

"Gibbs!" Abby bounced into the room, waving a file over her head. "You are not gonna _believe_ what I just found!"

"Three extra Caf-Pows in your fridge?"

"Aw, Gibbs! You're making jokes." She wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. "I thought you were going to be a in a bad mood with Director Shepard and Ziva gone and getting a new agent and…" She pulled back suddenly. "Oh no, I'm reminding you that you're in a bad mood, aren't I?"

"Fix it by telling me what you've got, Abs."

"Right. So Ducky sent me the blood and I tested for all the usual suspects, which were there, but then I found this." She triumphantly produced a piece of paper.

Gibbs took it from her hand and stared at it. "And this is?"

"It says right there!" She pointed to some mysterious number in a sea of other mysterious numbers. "Elevated hCG!"

Ducky gasped, but Gibbs remained annoyed. "Which means?"

"Comatose Bridget was pregnant, Gibbs."


	5. Chapter 5

Ziva squinted in the bright desert sun as she stepped though the hatchway of the plane and put on her sunglasses. They didn't seem to help. Jenny followed her down to the tarmac, complaining, "God, it's hot."

"It is the Sahara." She declined to mention that it was hardly the middle of summer and could therefore be much worse, instead taking her time surveying the area. They had flown into the city's main commercial airport, but were deplaning at a small private terminal. Other than an attendant of some sort lounging against a piece of machinery, it was deserted. Her hand came to a rest on the butt of her gun.

"Don't start, Ziva."

"What?"

"I know we could have stayed in DC, in MTAC, with air conditioning…"

"I did not say a word." She set her suitcase down and continued to sweep the area. A jeep was speeding toward them, kicking up a large dust cloud. Stepping in front of Jen at the best defensive angle she could estimate, she drew her weapon. "At least it is a dry heat."

"Put that away. It's just Major Miner."

"Do you want to take that chance?" Ziva kept her SIG pointed at the ground, making minor adjustments to her position as the jeep…she suddenly glanced over her shoulder with a smile. "Major Miner?"

"Yes. He's with the Marines and his team is providing security at the facility where Sahrawi is being held. It isn't a matter of distrust in Moussad, just…"

"Forget it." Jen obviously wasn't in the right frame of mind to get the joke. They waited silently as the jeep came to a stop a few yards away.

A man in fatigues stepped out and saluted. "Welcome to Marrakech, Director Shepard."

"Major. I trust things are going well?"

"Not as well as we'd hoped but…he'll break." He looked as Ziva suspiciously. "I was not informed that you would be bringing your own security detail."

"Oh, Major Miner, this is Officer Ziva David, Moussad liaison to NCIS. Ziva, this is Major Brand Miner."

He reluctantly reached out to shake the hand she offered after holstering her weapon. "I thought we had enough _help_ from Moussad on this one."

She bit her tongue and allowed Jen to answer, "Officer David has personal experience invaluable to this operation. Shall we get going?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Ziva noted that while Miner helped Jen into what looked like a WWII-era vehicle up close, he obviously had no intention of doing the same for her. She placed her suitcase in the back and used the tire as a step to climb in. Miner hit the gas almost before she was seated. From his monologue, shouted to be heard over the engine and the wind whipping past the open jeep, she learned that it was a fifteen-minute ride to wherever they were holding Sahrawi.

After a trip that seemed much longer than it must have been due to the bumpy road and uncomfortable seating, they arrived at an out of the way building on a hilltop. Ziva nodded her approval as several Marines approached them. "A good location. Hard to find, easy to defend."

"Yeah," Miner agreed tersely, again moving to assist Jen. "Your buddies set it up." He jerked his head toward a man walking out of the building.

"I'm disappointed you don't remember it, Ziva. I know for a fact that you've been here at least once before," the man said in Hebrew.

Ziva leaped over the side of the jeep and jogged toward him. "Shalom, Officer Arad." She kissed him on the cheek, recalling that they had spent a night in this very building on a mission some years before. "I guess I get to be disappointed too. I was shocked to hear that Sahrawi had not yet broken with you on the interrogation team."

A brief smile passed over her former teammate's face before he became serious again and grunted. "The Americans are skeptical of our methods and therefore reluctant to allow us to do anything outside a very narrow scope. The word 'draconian' has been thrown around quite liberally by the NCIS agents who have been working with us."

"I think things will change rather quickly. Jen came for answers and information and our window is limited."

He glanced in her direction before turning his attention back to Ziva. "Good. And you, how have you been? Tamir tells me you were in rough shape when he saw you a few months ago."

She nodded, remembering that Ariel Tamir had been one of the men who had found Tony and her on Elba. "I'm feeling much better. What about you? How is your family?"

"Eh, the usual. The last time we spoke my daughter was furious that I would not be able to attend her school play. Strange, but it made me feel bad. Do you think that means I'm getting to old for fieldwork?"

"You'll know when you've had enough, Lior." She patted his shoulder as Jen, Miner and two other Marines approached them and changed back to English as she asked, "Are we going to get started?"

"We've already started," Miner muttered.

She ignored him. "Jen this is…"

"Officer Lior Arad." She shook his hand. "We've spoken on several occasions."

"Yes, Director Shepard. It is nice to finally meet you in person."

The small group stood in the sun for a few silent moments before Jen said, "I didn't come here with the intention of tanning. Where is he?"

* * *

McGee walked into the bullpen behind Tony and Sampson after they had been unexpectedly called back to NCIS while walking out of the nursing facility. Gibbs was sitting at his desk, drinking coffee and scowling at a picture from the crime scene on the plasma screen. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry, boss. Traffic and demented grandmas." Tony patted McGee's cheek. "Isn't that right, Reginald? Or are you Herbert?"

He ducked away from Tony and dropped his gear on his desk. "What did Abby find, boss?"

Gibbs gave him a questioning look. "What makes you think it was Abby?"

"Oh. Well, what did Ducky find?"

Gibbs continued to stare at him until Tony interjected, "What did _you_ find, boss?"

McGee smiled when he heard Tony got a slap to the back of his head. "Don't be a suck-up. Ducky has decided that Flannery died as a result of being taken off life support. What did they have to say at the home?"

McGee removed his PDA to begin relating details, but Tony was already standing in front of Gibbs' desk with his notebook open. "Cpl. Flannery was transferred by ambulance to another facility yesterday morning – which was quite an interesting development, considering the placed she was moved to was shut down by the Health Department three months ago. We've already called to confirm, but…"

Gibbs suddenly interrupted, "Why are there only two of you standing in front of me?"

"Because Ziva is away," Tony grumbled, earning himself another slap.

McGee beckoned to Sampson, who edged over to a spot just slightly behind him. Tony waited for someone else to say something before continuing, "The name on the transfer authorization was Patrick Flannery, the father, but the woman who we spoke with said the parents had specifically told her they would be away until next week. Apparently they visit every day. Anyway, we asked the management at Our Lady of Peace not to call the family, since we weren't sure how you'd want to handle it."

"What about this boyfriend Ziva told you about?"

"Coleman McCormick?" McGee rushed to his computer and called up the driver's license he'd pulled earlier. "The nursing home had a standing order not to allow him access to Cpl. Flannery, but he managed to sweet talk some of the staff to allow him in after hours. They said he was a nice guy."

"Same thing Ziva said," Tony offered, ducking back from a threatening gesture on Gibbs' part. "What? It's case related!"

"Get her outta your head for now, DiNozzo."

"I…"

"Don't." Gibbs sat back down. "You three find out anything else?"

"Just that McGee has chubby cheeks the old ladies can't resist."

McGee swatted Tony's pinching fingers away, protesting, "She pinched Sampson's cheeks too."

Gibbs looked like he was about to ask, but thought better of it. "McGee, find out everything you can about McCormick – phone records, bank accounts, anything. DiNozzo, get me some contact info on the parents. Sampson…"

"Already done, boss." Tony held up his notepad. "They left the number where they're staying with the nursing home people, in case of, uh, magical coma recovery, I guess."

"Good. You can call them and get them in here, then. Sampson, with me."

McGee settled down at his computer, but Tony didn't move. "Where you goin', boss?"

"To talk to McCormick. Flannery was pregnant when she died."

McGee's head shot up. "Seriously?"

"That's what Abby's tests said. Sampson, you coming or not?"

When Gibbs and Sampson had disappeared into the elevator, McGee turned back to his computer, but Tony perched on the edge of his desk. "What, Tony?"

"Nothing. Just wondering if Sammy is going to survive his first adventure with the boss." He didn't move even when McGee ignored him, typing busily. "Hey, who do you think he saw in the elevator?"

Although McGee was also curious about who Sampson may have seen, he looked up incredulously. "We just found out that our dead coma patient was pregnant and you want to gossip about the new guy?"

"What? You expect me to make jokes about whatever poor Cpl. Flannery suffered?"

The reason for Tony's attitude became immediately clear when Abby smacked the back of his, McGee's, head. "What was that for?"

"For trying to make a joke out of Comatose Bridget!" She looped her arm through the crook of Tony's elbow. "For the record, I really like that name. Can we start giving all of them nicknames?"

"Only if you don't plan to tell Gibbs," Tony said.

"Oh! Where is Gibbs? I need to talk to him!"

"He just left," McGee said, wishing the small party around his desk would break up so he could get some work done.

She looked at Tony. "Can I use your phone then? I've got bad news. Actually, good news. Whatever, I have to tell Gibbs."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Apologies for the long wait. An odd school schedule and a need for a break prompted a sheep hiatus.

* * *

Gibbs ignored the phone ringing in his pocket, just as he'd done the past three or four times it had rung. Whatever DiNozzo wanted to complain about could wait. He pressed the gas pedal into the carpeting, demanding that the car get to Chantilly faster. There was something about this case that was really getting under his skin. Or a lot of things…and not all to do with the case.

Without turning his head, he glanced at Sampson, the new probie. He'd decided that Jen had left him with the kid so he'd have an outlet for his anger over losing one of his team members just in time for a case. He had also decided he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. If she thought she could screw with his team dynamics and miss the fallout because she was away on some damn…_thing_…

He yanked the wheel to the right, narrowly missing a school bus. The near miss pulled him out of his trance and prompted him to slow down. He pulled to a smooth stop at a red light just as Sampson answered his cell, "Hello? Oh, Agent DiNozzo, I…He's right…Who?" After a moment he held his hand over the mouthpiece. "Agent Gibbs, someone named Abby wants to talk to you."

He gestured for Sampson to hand over his phone. "Abby?"

"Gibbs!" He pulled the phone away from his ear to save it from her happy squeal. "I was so worried when you wouldn't pick up your phone! Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"Well…because I made a mistake. Of course, you wouldn't know about it until I told you, but I thought you got one of your gut-o-grams that told you I was calling with bad news. Well, not bad news, because that would imply something negative, which this would be under other circumstances, but…"

"Abby…"

"Right, daytime minutes. Comatose Bridget wasn't pregnant."

Gibbs let out a deep breath, feeling slightly better. "So it was just a screwed up test?"

"Not exactly. Her hCG was elevated and that's usually a sure sign of pregnancy."

"I'm no expert, Abs, but even I know there's no such thing as 'kind of' pregnant."

"Of course not, Bossman. Only people on sitcoms say that. I was just trying to tell you that, statistically, the reason for increased hCG is a BITO."

"BITO?"

"Bun in the oven? No? Well, McGee and Tony are laughing. Anyway, the point is she wasn't pregnant."

He had to admit he was pleased about it, but kept his tone neutral. "And this was the urgent development you had to share with me?"

"Well, I heard you were on your way to talk to the boyfriend. I just wanted to save you the trouble of beating the snot out of him for something he didn't do."

"Snot?"

"We thought that's why you took Sammy – y'know kill two birds with one stone by terrorizing the suspect and the probie at once?"

"We?"

"Well…"

"Smack DiNozzo for me, Abs." He snapped the phone shut and tossed it back to Sampson. "Cpl. Flannery wasn't pregnant. There was some problem with the test."

"So that's good news?"

"It is for Coleman McCormick," Gibbs muttered, pulling into a parking lot across from a construction site. Ten minutes of arguing with the foreman later, he shoved Sampson and McCormick into the trailer that was serving as the on-site office. "Right, so you're McCormick?"

He removed his hardhat, revealing a mat of sweaty red curls. "Yeah, and I just want to say that whatever that prick told you is a lie."

Gibbs tapped his fingers against the desk he was leaning on. "Do you wanna tell me why you think we're here?"

"Oh, come on. Navy cops? That asshole who hit me at Pax River last week is obviously trying cover his ass by blaming the accident on me, even though he ran the stop sign. You should see how he fucked up my truck!"

"Why were you at Pax River?" Sampson asked before Gibbs could stop him.

"I was working on the new hangar. Job was almost finished so I switched over to here. I think the foreman was worried there might be trouble, but…seriously, I just want someone to pay for the work on my truck. Why did that little prick say about me?"

"We're not…"

"Agent Sampson, just take notes," Gibbs interrupted. He turned back to McCormick. "How long were you working at Pax River?"

"I dunno, about…well, since the job started about three months ago, right up to last Friday."

"And you haven't been there since then?"

"No reason to. I live in Tysons Corner, so this site is a lot more convenient for me anyway. Look, I don't know what's going on, but…"

"You know a Cpl. Bridget Flannery?"

McCormick was clearly blindsided by Gibbs' question. He swallowed hard a few times before saying, "Yeah, I…she's my girlfriend. Or she was. Now she's just…" He rubbed his hands over his face. "I always think I should see her more often, but every time I do, it's like, I almost wish I wasn't there. I know the machines say she's alive, but the doctors say…well, I believe them when they say she's never gonna wake up. Unlike her family," he finished with some venom.

"You don't get along with her family."

"No, they don't…ah, shit." He began to pace the small open space in the trailer, causing Sampson to back up to the point of pressing against the wall. "Did they find out I've been visiting after hours and report it to you guys? I just…Agent Gibbs, you have to understand that I love her and even though it kills me to see her like she is now…I still love her. We've been together since junior year of high school and…look, I haven't tried to fight them about the life support since they made the final decision and…"

Gibbs laid a hand on McCormick's shoulder. "Cpl. Flannery is dead."

* * *

Tony sat down and propped his feet on Ziva's desk, deciding he could wait for a call just as easily from there as he could from his own desk. "That better?"

"You're still staring at me," McGee complained.

"Yeah, but it's from a different direction now."

"Can't you find something useful to do?"

"Hey, I called the parents." Tony shuddered at the recollection. He could have handled the crying and demands for explanations if they hadn't been preceded by a moment when Patrick and Maureen Flannery thought their vacation had been interrupted by someone telling them their daughter had miraculously woken up. "That should have been enough to get me the rest of the day off."

"You made one phone call and then annoyed me for forty minutes!"

"I made two phone calls!" Tony protested. "You're just jealous of my superior delegating skills."

"Delegating what? Gibbs was the one who told me to dig up whatever I could on McCormick!"

"I hope you're arresting that rat bastard!" a man who had just walked into the bullpen shouted.

Tony jumped out of his chair as McGee rushed to block all the information that had been displayed on the plasma. "Uh, can we help you with something?"

The man gave Tony a belligerent glare, running a grimy hand through his greasy brown hair before saying, "I got a call from my father saying that Bridget had died and that some joker at NCIS had called to tell them."

"Yeah, that would be…" Tony trailed off with a glance at McGee. He corrected himself, "I'm Agent DiNozzo, and this is Agent McGee. I'm sorry, but your parents didn't mention your name when…"

"Can you blame them? You call on their vacation to tell them that Bridget is dead and that you're investigating it? I'm telling you right now that it was that pissant McCormick, emphasis on Mick. And he probably got some help from that raghead that works at the nursing home. Bet he wanted to finish the job his buddies over there started."

"Uh, right. Well, if you'd like to, uh…" Taken aback by the unexpected vitriol aimed in all directions, Tony grabbed Gibbs' chair and dragged it over to his own desk. "Uh, have a seat, Mr. Flannery…"

"Ryan." He reached out to shake Tony's hand.

Tony discreetly wiped it on his pants as he sat behind his desk and took out his notebook. "Right, Ryan. Why don't you tell me why you think Coleman McCormick has something to do with your sister's death?"

An hour later, Tony was actually relieved to escort Ryan Flannery to the morgue, at his request. He hoped the patently unlikable guy wouldn't have any racial epithets to fling at Scots when Ducky met them at the automatic door. "Dr. Mallard, this is Cpl. Flannery's brother."

"Yes, Timothy let me know you were on your way down. My condolences on your loss, Mr. Flannery." Flannery looked suspiciously at Ducky's gloved, outstretched hand. "Right, well, she's right over here." He lifted the sheet just enough to uncover Cpl. Flannery's face.

"Huh. I…I thought she'd look different." Flannery reached out to touch his sister's cheek, displaying an emotion other than intense loathing for pretty much everyone for the first time. "Is it wrong that I think she looks the exact same way she has for the past few months?"

"As I understand it, she's been comatose since returning from Iraq?"

"Yeah. Mom and Dad were sure she was gonna wake up and I almost believed it too sometimes, but now…you're gonna catch whoever killed her, right? I mean, whoever killed her _here_?"

Tony nodded. "We'll do our best. I'll, uh, escort you out." At the main entrance, he said, "You'll let us know if you're going to be leaving the area."

"Oh, you can bet I'm not going anywhere until McCormick goes to jail." Flannery shook his hand again and made his way across the parking lot to a sad looking Datsun.

Tony stopped in the bathroom to wash his hands before returning to the squad room. Gibbs and Sampson were there, exchanging notes with McGee. Gibbs interrupted McGee mid-sentence to ask, "What was the brother's reaction when he saw the body?"

Caught slightly off guard, Tony fumbled for a moment, "Well, he, uh…it was…he said she looked pretty much the same. You get anything from the boyfriend?"

"Too early to tell. We've got a lot to confirm before we start making decisions."

"No gut feeling?"

"Other than the one telling me to smack you for doing nothing while…"

Tony reached into his pocket for his ringing cell phone. "Hold that thought, boss." Five minutes later, he hung up with a triumphant grin. "Well, remember how Comatose Bridget left the home in an ambulance? My old buddy at Baltimore PD has possibly tracked it down for us at an impound lot. Company name matches the one they gave us, but the company, much like the nursing home they moved her to, no longer exists." He winked at McGee. "Like I said, delegating."

He hunched his shoulders as Gibbs slapped him in spite of his breakthrough. "Go check it out. Take Sampson."

Tony grabbed his gear and gave Sampson a friendly punch in the shoulder. "Looks like you're getting to go on all the field trips today, huh, Sammy?"

* * *

Jenny stared at the monitor, watching the man sitting in a bare room. With his arms tied behind him in a stark wooden chair, Sahrawi looked far less intimidating than she remembered. She bit her tongue as one of the NCIS agents interrogated him. The main technique the man seemed to be employing was a lot of shouting in Sahrawi's face. "Is this what you've been doing for the past few days?"

Agent Saunders, the lead on the mission, nodded enthusiastically. "We've been giving him minimal rations and asking him a lot of questions. The Israelis don't think we're working him hard enough, but…"

"You aren't," she cut him off. Before he could defend his sanctioned interrogation tactics, she walked out of the room. She found Ziva down the hall sitting in an improvised lounge-type room, sipping water and chatting with the Moussad team. "Officer Arad?"

The man on Ziva's left pushed himself off what could generously be called a couch and walked over to Jenny. "What can I do for you, Director Shepard?"

"You and your people are taking over all aspects of the interrogation here. Saunders?" She turned on her heel to face that man that had followed her out of the command center. "Take your team and continue looking for Safad."

"What…where?" he sputtered. "We were supposed to…"

"We're supposed to be apprehending terrorists. Go pick up the trail wherever you can."

Saunders grabbed her elbow and nearly pulled her shoulder out of the socket as he dragged her into the hallway. "Ma'am, I really don't think you should hand the prisoner over to Moussad. They're a little too good at this stuff, if you know what I mean."

Jenny was in no mood to be patronized. "Do you find something about your instructions unclear, Agent Saunders?"

"No, Ma'am. I'm just telling you my concerns about…"

"Your concerns are noted. Now get your team together and get on Safad, if you think you can manage that."

"Director…"

"There will still be an NCIS presence here in Officer David and myself and the Marines will remain to provide security. There is still a dangerous terrorist on the loose and Sahrawi is no longer your responsibility. Am I making myself clear?"

Saunders silently fumed for a moment before responding, "Crystal, Director. Will the Moussad team be rejoining us once they're _finished_ here?"

"Yes."

"We'll keep you updated." He didn't wait for her reply before stalking down the hall.

A snort of laughter from the doorway of the lounge drew her attention. Ziva was leaning against the frame. "Subtle."

"I thought you of all people would want this to be over sooner rather than later."

She smiled. "I did not say I don't approve."

"So you aren't going to reprimand me about potentially driving a wedge between my team and yours?"

"I thought we were all on the same team, Jen."

"You know what I mean. We both know that Moussad is better equipped than NCIS to handle these types of situations. Saunders and his agents are great trackers, but…" she trailed off.

"I will pretend you're trying to pay a compliment." Ziva walked toward the command center. "We should probably go see what Lior is doing. I think his personal record is three minutes."


	7. Chapter 7

Tony cupped his hands and peered through the rear window of the ambulance the surly impound lot attendant had led him to after a good ten minutes of bickering. If he'd realized all it would take to get in was a visit from Mr. Lincoln, he wouldn't have bothered with all his search warrant bluster. As it was, McGee had performed his computer magic and found a picture on a traffic cam of this very ambulance one street over from Our Lady of Peace around the time Comatose Bridget had left. Or been removed. Or something. They were taking the ambulance back to NCIS was the important thing, relieving him of any responsibility for processing it. Face still pressed against the window as he assessed the chaotic rear compartment, he muttered, "I have no idea how to tell if things are missing or extra or what back here."

"What was that, Agent DiNozzo?"

He pushed off from the glass and turned to look at Sampson. "What are you writing?"

"I'm just taking notes like Agent Gibbs told me I should."

"On what? We're just here as glorified delivery boys who got sent out before we had all the information. This isn't a crime scene. We're not even talking to anyone."

"Oh, well…" He scuffed the ground with his imitation Italian shoes. "I did have one question."

Tony felt somewhat guilty for getting annoyed with Sampson, but putting the kid at ease took more effort than he was ready to give today. And 'Take Sampson' didn't have the same ring as the usual 'Take Ziva.' Oh, that had so, so many possibilities. He allowed himself a smiled and said, "Ask away, Sammy."

"Will we have to resort to bribery very often?"

"No. Although I think we got off light with five bucks versus another ten minutes of listening to Mr. Bawlmer over there."

Sampson suddenly looked alarmed, as if he'd made some glaring error. "When did he say his name?"

"Never mind." Tony circled around the front of the ambulance to check the cab in the hopes that anyone dumb enough to kidnap a coma patient might also leave a wallet or something. Not seeing anything, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and tried the door handle. "C'mon. Who's gonna steal an ambulance?"

"Didn't someone steal it to begin with?"

"Uh…" He readjusted his sleeve and surveyed the impound lot, looking for the attendant.

"Agent DiNozzo?"

"Would'ja stop that? DiNozzo or Tony is fine. Much as I thought I enjoyed it at first, the formality is starting to weird me out."

"I'm sorry, I was just trying…"

"Hey!" Tony interrupted as he saw the attendant. When he got no response from the guy, who happened to be looking straight at him, he shouted louder and added a dramatic hand-wave. "Hey!"

"Whah?" Rather than moving closer, the man kept his distance.

"You have keys for this thing?"

"Naw." He pulled his hat down and disappeared behind a few cars that didn't look like their owners would be bailing them out anytime soon.

"Right. Guess we just wait for the flatbed." He settled on the rear bumper of a pickup truck parked beside their ambulance. "Were we talking about something before the impound troll interrupted us?"

"You actually…um, I mean I was asking if this ambulance had been stolen."

"It used to be one of the largest outfits in the city, but the company went belly-up when the owner's son started embezzling funds to finance his gambling addiction. He used to go up to Foxwoods every weekend and…" Tony abruptly stopped embellishing the story as he realized he was about to start describing a case so fresh he hadn't even finished the paperwork. Had that really ended yesterday? Hopefully Harry had found a nice family to spend some time with while the details were hammered out and…

"Um, Ag…DiNozzo?"

"Huh?" He turned his attention to Sampson, who was watching him curiously. "Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about something. But…the ambulance. Right. I may have taken a little artistic license, but the important thing is it was sold at a cash auction over a year ago and never re-registered." He smiled at the potential Geoffrey Sanderson, deciding it would be all right to have a little fun with the new probie. "Hang around long enough and you may get a very clear lesson about that. The interpretation may not be as accurate, but I think you're supposed to take the disclaimer at the front seriously."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you like to read?"

"Why do…um, yeah. Sure."

"Check out _Deep Six_ by Thom E. Gemcity. McGee's a, uh, big fan and would probably love to chat with you about it."

"Is that the one about NCIS? I think a girl in my FLETC class recommended it but I never got around to reading it because…"

"She wasn't that hot?"

"I didn't say that."

"Relax, Sammy. I understand. You're a good looking guy in your prime and you can't just settle for anything and everything."

"I, um…okay."

Tony grinned, realizing that this wasn't even going to be a challenge. "Now, for example, you mentioned you saw a woman in the elevator this morning. I bet she was cute."

"She was _really_ pretty."

That cut it down considerably. "Blonde?"

"No, dark hair."

Tony resisted his compulsion to jealousy when he remembered it couldn't possibly have been Ziva, though Sampson would have to have been blind not to notice and appreciate her, had she been there. He shook his head and asked, "Tall or short?"

"About average, I guess."

That ruled out the Amazon from Legal. But…Agent Lee could be a heartbreaker for Sampson. "Asian?"

"No. African-American."

"Assuming she's American." Wait, was Ziva the only foreign national working for NCIS? Did it matter right now? Tony did a quick catalogue of all the attractive black women in the agency and came up with one possibility that amused him more than any other. "Jardine."

"Garden?"

"What?"

"Sorry, I thought maybe your French was bad."

"It is." He smiled as he remembered a random conversation in bed. "Well, Ziva taught me one thing. J'ai un petit babouin. It means, 'I like small boobs.' Don't know what I'd ever need that for but…whatever." Sampson's sudden smile made him uncomfortable. "Why are we talking about French?"

"You said jardin and I thought…"

"Oh! Nikki Jardine!" Tony regained his smug composure, wondering if it would be more entertaining to…no, it would definitely be better not to warn Sampson ahead of time. "She's an intelligence analyst. I can introduce you if you'd like."

"I couldn't…what if she's not the woman I saw on the elevator?"

Tony stood and clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, even if she's not, you still get to meet someone new, right? And I think I see our flatbed. Enjoy your ride back with Carl. He's got some kind of aversion to soap, but…just think of it as a right of passage."

* * *

McGee stood in the garage, watching the ambulance back in. Or, more accurately, the flatbed with the ambulance on it back in. Abby was at his side, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waited. "Could you stop? You're making me nervous."

"Sorry, Timmy." She bounced over to a workbench to grab the pair of gloves that completed her ensemble. "You know how excited I get when I put on the red jumpsuit." She stopped in front of him and twirled, as if the article of clothing could possibly have been in doubt. "I'm like the opposite of an ambulance chaser right now; I'm an ambulance waiter."

"Wouldn't the opposite of an ambulance chaser be someone who was chased by the ambulance?"

"Don't be ridiculous, McGee. Why would an ambulance chase people?" She rubbed her hands together in anticipation as the gears of the flatbed made some abnormal crunching noises. To his surprise, the ambulance was soon on the floor without incident.

Sampson climbed out of the cab of the truck before it could leave the garage. McGee smiled sympathetically. "Tony made you ride back with Carl?"

"He, um, had some interesting stories about things he's towed here over the years."

"You'll be fine after a shower," Abby volunteered. "You must be Sammy, right?"

"It's, um, Sampson, actually. George Sampson."

"Wow, less than a day and you've already got your own nickname?" She gave him an enthusiastic double thumbs-up. "I'm Abby, by the way."

"She's our forensic scientist," McGee clarified. "You'd probably be even less inclined to believe that if you saw her in the lab."

He was rewarded with a punch to the shoulder. "What's with the stereotyping, McGee?"

"What? No. I was just saying that…you seem like…"

"I'll let you off the hook if you go put on the jumpsuit."

He pouted for a moment, but, not wanting to look bad in front of the new probie, conceded. "Yeah, you're right. We can process the ambulance faster if I help. Um, Sampson, Abby can just familiarize you with the garage here and then you can observe while we, um…I'll just run and change then."

As he walked away, heard Abby say, "You look familiar, Sammy. Were we in the elevator together this morning?"

Tony was just exiting the elevator when McGee returned in his jumpsuit. He pulled Tony aside and whispered, "I think Abby was the woman Sampson saw in the elevator this morning! The one he said he liked!"

Tony grinned and spoke at a normal volume, "I believe he said she was pretty, not that he liked her. He doesn't even know her." Abby's laugh echoed through the garage. "Although he seems to be enjoying getting to know her."

"Tony, seriously. Abby wouldn't date him."

"Why not?"

"Well, Rule Twelve, for one." Tony snorted and McGee realized he'd probably suggested that particular rule to the worst person. "Fine, but…I don't know. Does he really seem like her type?"

"I don't know." Tony raised an eyebrow and took his time observing Sampson before continuing, "She did date _you_, once upon a time."

"This isn't a joke."

"Probie, either marry her or let her go, because not everyone functions by identifying your scent on whatever you've marked."

"That's…" He took a moment to think before figuring out what it was. "That's really disgusting. And not true."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I don't think you actually go around peeing on stuff, I just meant…"

"No, I meant that I'm not interested in dating Abby. I just…I think it would be weird if she dated someone else in the agency, okay? Don't you think it would be weird?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Well, all personal arguments in favor of intra-agency dating aside, why stand in the way of two kids finding happiness?" Tony's nonchalance and grin were becoming infuriating.

McGee stomped across the garage to where Abby was explaining how to unlock cars without the aid of keys to Samps…to the probie. "…and if Ziva were here she could show you how to do it with a couple of paperclips, but we're just gonna…"

"I can do it." McGee picked up the Slim Jim from the table and worked it between the window and the metal frame on the passenger side door of the ambulance.

"McGee, you don't have to…"

"I've got it Abby." He bit his lip as he focused on the task at hand, feeling around for the tumblers. No matter what Tony had been getting at, he wasn't jealous of Sampson potentially liking Abby. He was just feeling protective because a stranger was possibly interested in one of his closest friends. If anything, Tony was the bad guy in this situation because he wasn't at all concerned for Abby's safety and happiness. Why wasn't Tony more concerned? Gibbs would be interested, at least. And maybe lobby to get rid of Sampson if something did happen with Abby. Or…

A tap on the window caused him to look up. Abby waved to him from inside the ambulance. Her voice was slightly distorted as she said, "Like I was telling Sammy, we don't need a master locksmith because we have a wide variety of auto jigglers," she held up a ring with numerous key-like pieces attached, "that make it really easy to get into locked vehicles."

McGee continued to work the metal strip in his hands. "I'm just practicing."

"What?"

"I'm just…!"

"No need to shout, McGee," she interrupted, rolling the window down. "Now gimme some tweezers and an envelope. I see blond hairs on the driver's headrest."

Tony suddenly spoke over McGee's shoulder as he handed the supplies Abby had requested through the window. "Have we met any blond people during this investigation yet?"

"Not that I can think of." He took a deep breath and yanked. "Hah!"

"Congratulations, Probie. You unlocked the ambulance Abby is already sitting inside. I'm going upstairs to see if Gibbs is going to let us go soon or if we should think about who we want to order dinner from."

"No pizza!" McGee called after him. Setting the Slim Jim on the table, he poked his head into the rear compartment of the ambulance that Abby had just opened. He narrated to Sampson as Abby dug around, "All of the equipment here will be analyzed in the lab to see if there's any blood or DNA evidence to link it to the case, or…well, you know."

"Oh, well…it is different in the field than in training."

"Right." In spite of the fact that Abby was now facing away from them as she bent over, McGee noticed that Sampson wasn't paying too much attention. Maybe Abby wasn't the one he'd seen in the elevator. Suddenly feeling more magnanimous, McGee said, "I just don't want you to feel like I'm treating you like an idiot. I'm sure you got enough of that from Tony this afternoon."

"It's okay." Sampson grinned. "He has a small baboon."

In spite of the opportunity to demonstrate a practical investigative skill, McGee decided it was best not to ask a follow-up question in this case. He turned back to the ambulance. "Hey, Abby, I think there's a used latex glove under that box on your left…"


	8. Chapter 8

After waiting a full minute, Ziva decided that the water wasn't going to lose its rusty tinge and stepped under the spluttering showerhead. It was minimally refreshing, seeming to be only a few degrees cooler than the stifling air in the building. Had it been this warm a few hours ago? The desert was supposed to be cooler at night. She wasn't sure whether to be comforted or disappointed that an interrogation had caused her to work up such a sweat. Of course, she hadn't really felt uncomfortable until Jen's untimely appearance, but…

Ziva dug her fingers into her scalp as she lathered her hair, trying to scrub out the past few hours. The work itself had felt like – What was the expression? Riding a bicycle? – but she couldn't remember ever needing more than five minutes to shrug it off on previous assignments. She checked her watch and discovered that it was now thirty minutes and counting. Also, that it was past eight in DC and Tony would be home if no major developments had occurred in the Flannery case. She sighed and began soaping her skin, paying extra attention to areas that had been exposed. The slow drain was causing water to rise in the tub and she could feel it sloshing every time she moved her feet. She hurriedly rinsed herself off and twisted the knob on the wall, drawing a groan of protest from the pipes as the water slowed to a trickle then a persistent drip.

She wrapped the thick towel she'd wisely brought from home around her midsection and bent down to pick up her clothes. The bloodstains on them were unfortunate, but she could always just keep them handy for any time she needed to go into the interrogation room; no sense in ruining another of the plain shirt/cargo pants combinations she'd brought. She suddenly smiled as she flashed back to packing.

Tony had been lying on the bed, assessing each item as she folded it and placed it in her suitcase, open beside him. "What's with the drab-fest?"

"What?"

"Everything you've packed is so…blah. What if Jenny wants to take a break and go clubbing one night?"

"She won't."

"No side trips to swanky soirees or…"

"Do you think that every mission is…?" The look in his eyes had told her there was no need to bring up Dmitri. "Most are quite the opposite, in terms of opulence. We are going somewhere that will likely be very unpleasant. In fact, I will be happy if I return home without lice."

He'd made a face and flopped back down on the bed, remaining silent for a few minutes before asking, "Are you planning on packing the clothes you're wearing?"

"I have been wearing these all day. I'm planning to throw them in the laundry."

"That was actually my overly-subtle way of asking you to take off your clothes."

In the ensuing hour, her carefully packed suitcase had been knocked off the bed and had required repacking. Tony had countered her complaint with the panting declaration, "Totally worth it."

Ziva sighed as she twisted her hair up in a second towel from home and looked around the small, dusty room. She was reminded that home was very far away. Picking up the ball of clothing she'd briefly considered washing in the sink, she opened the door and walked out of the bathroom, directly into Officer Ariel Tamir. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"No big deal." He looked her up and down with an eager grin. "Enjoyed your shower?"

"Not particularly. The water is foul and the drain is slow."

"Oh, well, the…sometimes…it's…"

"How long has it been since you've seen a woman, Tamir?"

He grinned guiltily as he raised his gaze to her face. "I just…it's been a while. I've been away for over eight months now and my girlfriend left me a message to say she doesn't want to be with someone who's never around and I get that. But you're pretty hot, David, so I'm not going to apologize for staring when you show up in front of me dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel."

She ignored what she assumed was meant as a compliment in favor of expanding on the bit of intelligence Tamir had just imparted. "Roni broke up with you?"

"You're joking right?"

"What?"

"We've only met once before right?"

"Twice," she corrected. "On Elba and that training trip in the Negev about six years ago."

He looked at her in surprise. "I didn't think you would remember me from that."

"You asked me out, not realizing that my boyfriend was also at the training, and he punched you."

"So I was hoping you _wouldn't_ remember me, then."

"It wasn't your fault. Jacob overreacted and…" She blinked, not wanting to bring back too many old memories or to speak ill of the dead. "But we were talking about you and Roni."

"How do you even know her name? Look, I know my personal life is an open book to Moussad, but I didn't realize that things like my girlfriend's name were out there for just _anyone_!"

"Adi is my best friend. Roni's older sister?"

"Oh. Small world when Moussad is involved, I guess." Tamir seemed to catch himself before his eyes dipped again. "Well, this has been awkward. You probably want to go get dressed."

He slipped past her into the bathroom before she could offer him any reassurance. Reminding herself to do it later if she got Tamir alone, she walked down the hall to the large bedroom she was sharing with Jen and the rest of the Moussad team. There was at least a little more space since the NCIS team had been sent away.

Ziva was just pulling her boots on when Officer Amit Stein, the third member of the Moussad team, walked into the room. "David, got a question for you."

"Yes?"

"Your father is the director, right?"

"He doesn't do favors for me, so do not think…"

"Oh."

She ran her fingers through her wet hair and allowed it to just fall; it had already created a damp patch on the back of her shirt anyway. Stein stood watching her. "Is there something else?"

"What? No."

"Then do you know where Jen is?"

"Director Shepard? I believe she said something about going for a walk outside."

"Thank you." Ziva gave him a wide berth as she left the room and walked toward the back door. If she remembered correctly, there was a ridge just beyond the rear fence with views of the city.

The Marine guarding the gate waved her through without a question, saying, "She's up there."

Ziva nodded and made her way up a rough trail to where she could see Jen's silhouette in the dark. She was careful to make more noise then necessary so as not to appear to be sneaking up. Jen didn't acknowledge her after a few moments of waiting, so she asked, "May I sit down?"

Jen looked at her seriously for a moment. "Yes. But you have to speak English."

"Sorry." She took a seat on the cool rock, feeling a sudden chill through the dampness on the back of her shirt. "I suppose I have been talking with Israelis so often in the past few hours that I've gotten used to Hebrew and…"

"Ziva, I know why you're here and I don't want to talk about it."

"All right." She leaned back, supporting herself on her arms, and looked at the city lights in the near distance. They were apparently just far enough away to be beyond the reach of city sounds.

The silence remained until Jen asked, "Did you learn this from Gibbs?"

"Learn what?"

"This is exactly what he would do. Come up here and pretend that he was just going to let it slide when I said I didn't want to talk." She huffed with annoyance. "It is _not_ going to work."

"Getting people to talk has never exactly been a weakness of mine."

"Right." Jen was again the one to break the silence a few moments later. "How long until you break him?"

"Three days. Perhaps four. I would suggest you watch from the control room from now on."

"It happened exactly like you said. He didn't remember me."

Ziva wondered if comforting lies would help at the moment and said, "Perhaps he was lying. Perhaps he thought to torture you more by claiming he did not remember you."

"You saw his face when I walked in. He had no idea who I was. In Cairo? For three days, he would come down to the basement every few hours and tase me, just for his own amusement. He…" She brushed a hand over her eyes and didn't continue.

"Jen, men like Sahrawi are…let me put it this way – do you remember the names of every single person you have killed?"

She gave a grim snort. "You make it sound like I've killed a lot."

"Not just in person. You have ordered attacks, bombings."

"In defense of the country!"

"Not everyone who kills does so to defend a nation. I am trying to explain that the things some people take personally are… Well, as Tony would say, 'It's not personal. It's strictly business.' I believe it is from a movie."

"Naturally."

"Yes. Jen, you just have to accept you do not always leave as deep a mark on people as they leave on you."

"Very philosophical."

Ziva leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Would you rather I hit you?"

"No, that's all right." Jen sighed heavily. "Really, though, how can you not take it personally?"

"Focus on other things, find a distraction." Ziva shrugged. "For example, you could flirt mercilessly with all the men here."

"You noticed that too? It's like they haven't seen a woman in months!" Jen laughed, sounding lighter than she had since Ziva had sat down. "We really should have stayed in MTAC."

"You may change your mind."

"What makes you say that?"

Ziva stood and stared out at the city one last time before turning toward their dark building. "We'll see in three or four days."


	9. Chapter 9

McGee rushed to boot up his computer, having received an annoyed call from his editor, Lyndi Crawshaw, on his way to work, ordering him to check his email. He had no idea what about his latest proof could have set her off – unless she'd taken the overbearing, know-it-all secretary Lindsey Crenshaw as a… He suddenly stood and began to take his time stowing his gear. He was a little thirsty, too. Maybe a juice from the vending machine in the lounge would be a good idea before taking on whatever his favorite fire-breathing _Deep Six_ 'fan' had to say.

He was just leaving the squad room when he turned at the sound of a voice that sounded somewhat familiar, carrying through the open space, "Where the hell is everyone? You said there'd be someone here to meet us, you goddamn…"

"Ryan! Language!" A dark-haired woman shook a finger in the face of Ryan Flannery, who was still staring daggers at a nervous Sampson.

McGee walked quickly back into the bullpen. "Mr. Flannery, I'm Agent McGee. We met yesterday. What can I…?"

"Hey, I brought my parents down here," he waved at the woman and a heavyset man standing behind her, "after they cut their vacation short and rushed back and I find that no one is even bothering to work on my sister's case?"

McGee caught Sampson's eye in the moment before he looked like he was about to speak. He had the feeling that if the late night they'd all put in the previous day were brought up, Flannery would just accuse them of whining or even lying. He glanced at his desk, the potential for email evisceration putting an exclamation point on what was shaping up to be a difficult morning. "I can assure you that we're doing everything possible to…"

Flannery interrupted him again, "You in charge here?"

"Well, until Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo arrive, I am the senior agent present."

Flannery slapped a hand against his forehead, displaying blackened fingernails that made McGee cringe inwardly. "DiNozzo! That was the name of that wop I talked to yesterday! I kept calling him DiGiorno, like that shitty pizza you put in the oven."

"Ryan!" the woman scolded again before turning to McGee. "You have to forgive him for being a little too open at the moment. Agent McGee, you look like a nice man and our whole family is just so upset over what's happened to Biddy in the past months that…" she trailed off and buried her face in the shoulder of the man behind her.

He gave her a perfunctory pat on the back before stepping away to let her cry alone. "I'm Patrick Flannery. That's my wife Maureen. You obviously met our son before. Now I want you to know that our family has a ton of respect for the US military, so we know you'll catch the bastard who killed our girl. Just tell us what you know so far and we'll leave you to it."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Flannery, but we can't discuss any details of an open investigation with anyone."

"Why the hell not?"

"Well…"

Gibbs unexpectedly saved him from making any justifications. "It's policy." He stepped away from the partition and extended his hand. "Mr. Flannery, Mrs. Flannery, I'm Agent Gibbs. I'm the lead on your daughter's case."

Ryan Flannery almost shoved Sampson out of the way in his rush to shake hands with Gibbs and demand, "So if you're in charge, maybe you can bend policy and tell us something."

Gibbs set his coffee on his desk and shook his head. "I'm afraid that isn't possible."

"Look, we just wanna know. We're not gonna go out and fuck up anyone."

"I never suggested you would." McGee wasn't sure Ryan Flannery was capable of grasping the irony in Gibbs' tone. He continued, "Mr. and Mrs. Flannery, I know that this is a difficult time, but we would like to ask you a few questions about…"

"I already told them about that prick who claims he's her boyfriend."

"And I hoped you listened to Ryan and plan on arresting that bastard," Patrick Flannery added.

"We've spoken to Mr. McCormick and we know where to find him if we need to speak with him again. Now, Mr. Flannery, if you and your wife would step into our conference room, we need to confirm a few details. Sampson, with me. McGee, keep Mr. Flannery company. This shouldn't take too long."

Just as Gibbs was leading the couple down the hall, Tony stepped out of the elevator, prompting Ryan Flannery to shout, "Hey, there's my buddy. You on Mafia time, paisan?"

"Nice of you to join us, DiNozzo."

Tony twitched back in spite of the fact that Gibbs hadn't raised a hand to slap him. "Hey, I'm five minutes early, boss! Just because everybody is making me look bad…"

"Just…get to work."

Half an hour of quietly tolerating Flannery's racially-charged commentary later, McGee sat down at his desk, hoping to check his email in the two minutes it would take Gibbs to escort the man and his parents out of the building. The first sentence told him this was something he'd prefer to read in private. He realized he would get no such chance when a crumpled ball of paper struck his head. "What was that for, Tony?"

"What?"

"What?"

"Exactly."

"Ag…DiNozzo?"

"What's up, Sammy?" Tony bounced another paper ball, off McGee's forehead this time, as he walked past.

"Oh, Agent Gibbs got a handwriting sample from Patrick Flannery to compare to the one on the transfer form from the nursing home, and I was just wondering where I need to bring it."

"To Abby."

"In the garage?"

"Why would she be in the garage?"

"Oh, I thought…"

"You haven't been to the lab, yet, have you? Just take the back elevator to the basement and follow the comforting strains of death metal. I'm gonna stay up here and see what's making McGlitch twitch."

McGee was reaching to close his inbox when Tony suddenly grabbed his keyboard and mouse."Tony, don't!"

"What, are you surfing for porn or something?" He burst out laughing as he swiveled the monitor and read, "'There are some major pacing problems throughout the first ten chapters due to excessive portions of the narrative devoted to the Tommy/Lisa…' Aw, someone is offering our favorite little novelist a little helpful advice?"

"My editor," McGee replied briefly, attempting to grab at least one of the pieces of his computer from Tony's clutches. "Stop it unless you want Agent Tommy to, um…"

"Your editor thinks he spends 'too much time quoting movies and mooning over Lisa.' Nothing like a little embellishment, right?"

"Actually, I thought those were two of the more realistic aspects of the character."

"And yet your editor thinks Tommy is annoying."

"Well…hey!" McGee jumped out of his chair in an attempt to prevent Tony from walking further away with his stuff and destroying it when the cables were yanked out. "Put it back! You'll damage it!"

"Afraid I'll hurt your best friends, Mc…ow." McGee winced as Tony almost dropped the monitor in his surprise over being Gibbs-slapped. "Sorry, boss. I was just trying to prove a point to McGee, who seemed to have forgotten that you frown on our looking at personal email at work."

"I also frown on unnecessary destruction of agency property." Gibbs took the monitor from Tony's arms and dropped in on McGee's desk in a way that seemed to contradict his assertion. "I'm not filling out the paperwork to get McGee new toys." He returned the keyboard and mouse, no less delicately, before giving McGee a gentle tap on the back of his head. "DiNozzo was right. Talk about how annoying Agent Tommy is on your own time."

McGee allowed himself a smug smile and answered Gibbs while looking at Tony, "Not a problem."

"So, if you two are done playing around, can we get back to work? Where's Sampson?"

"Bringing the handwriting sample to Abby," Tony offered.

"Right. The parents claimed they've been in Bermuda for the past four days. Can we confirm it?"

While McGee rushed to reorganize his desk, Tony picked up one of the balled up papers he'd thrown earlier and uncrumpled it. "I checked with Customs, and they were where they said they were, unless they canoed across the open ocean and snuck in."

"What about…"

"They didn't make any calls from their hotel room and there wasn't any activity on their cell phones until after we called to tell them the bad news. We know that Ryan the Racist heard from them, so that's no big surprise."

"That's good to know, DiNozzo, but I was trying to ask if we had anything from the ambulance."

"Yes!" Abby cried, bounding into the bullpen, followed by Sampson. "The blond hairs were synthetic, the spit on the tubes was Comatose Bridget's and the fingerprints in the glove didn't match anyone in the system!"

Gibbs calmly sat down. "You finish the handwriting analysis already, Abs?"

"I couldn't. Nobody brought me a Caf-Pow." She seemed to be waiting for him to pull one out from under his desk before continuing with somewhat less enthusiasm, "I don't think the real Patrick Flannery's signature matches the one on the nursing home transfer form, but I sent it over to a friend of mine in the FBI Fraud unit just to be sure."

"Good. You said the hair was fake?"

"Uh huh. From a pretty cheap wig, if you ask me, although I've yet to see a wig that impressed. Oh, Gibbs, if you ever lose your hair, promise me you won't get a toupee!"

"Abs…"

"Right, what traitorous hair would ever dare leave your head?"

McGee pushed her hand away as she ruffled his hair. "Hey!"

"You can afford to have the mop mussed, McGee. Oooh, alliteration!"

"Is there anything else from the ambulance?" Gibbs asked.

"Nothing. Someone wiped it down and the only fingerprints other than the ones inside the glove were on the outside. Also, that rules out Ryan Flannery. He's got a record."

"Lemme guess – cross-burning? Immigrant-beating?" Tony plopped into Ziva's chair and began to rifle through her top drawer.

"Maybe it's better that Ziva's away while Flannery is going to be around," McGee suggested, immediately earning himself glares from everyone but Sampson. "I just meant...forget it."

Tony found what he'd apparently been searching for and yanked the clear wrapper off the bank-quality lollipop. "Probie, it's better for him than it is for her. Or us. Well, me, anyway."

"Us," Gibbs corrected. McGee didn't have time to reflect on the comment, as it was immediately followed by the order to grab gear. He was pulling his drawer open when Gibbs said, "Not you, McGee. Stay here and find whatever you can about that nursing home while we're there. And don't read your damn email until you find me _everything_!"

He set to work, busily typing until Abby's presence hovering over him became unbearable. "Can I do something for you?"

"No. I just wanna read your email. If Gibbs is yelling at you about it, it has to be something good."


	10. Chapter 10

Tony opened the door of the nursing home and waved Sampson through first. He held out an arm to prevent Gibbs from entering. "Give it a second. We need to see if it's safe."

"DiNozzo, if you can't defend yourself from senior citizens, I have serious questions about…"

"Hey, you didn't see the way that old lady dug her claws into Probie and Sammy. And it's not like the elderly are violent offenders you can take down using superior fighting skills. Low man on the totem pole has to take it on the cheek." He waited until Sampson made it halfway down the hall without being assaulted before following. "Trust me, boss, you'd thank me if you'd seen the Pincher."

"Where the heck is everybody?"

Tony stopped cringing in anticipation of a head-slap and looked around the empty corridor. "Maybe it's naptime?"

"Shouldn't there be nurses or something?"

"Cigarette break?"

Sampson piped up, "It looks like they're all down here."

Gibbs tolerated the diversion, following Sampson as he slipped in along the rear wall. While the music, if it could be called that, in the large, open room was painful to Tony's ears, all the old people seemed to be enjoying it. The blond administrator who had provided them with the transfer-related paperwork the previous day leaned toward Gibbs and stage-whispered, "Once a month the nurses put on a show for the residents. It's one of the personal touches that make Our Lady of Peace the ideal place for an aging relative or friend. Are you here for a tour of our facilities?"

"No." Gibbs displayed his badge. "I'm here about…"

"Cpl. Flannery, yes. We had some men here yesterday asking questions about that unfortunate situation." He frowned. "I'm Bob Norton. I run this facility. Could we perhaps…" He leaned forward and looked along the wall, nodding to Tony and Sampson. "Yes, to my office, then."

Tony grinned as he recognized the old woman who had greeted them at the door the previous day sitting a few rows away and tapped Sampson's shoulder. "I bet Gibbs won't mind if you take a minute to say hi to grandma."

"Oh, I…"

"I wouldn't take that bet either, Sampson." Gibbs gave them both a rough shove in the direction Norton was walking. He took the only chair when they arrived at the man's office and immediately started asking questions. "Had anything unusual occurred involving Cpl. Flannery or the staff lately?"

"Honestly, the only thing that was strange was the fact that her parents weren't coming every day. They were taking a vacation, which, if you ask me, is something they should have done quite some time ago. On the other hand, they were far more tolerable than the brother. One of our aides is Indian, and Mr. Flannery insisted that he not have any contact with his sister."

"Did this employee have a problem with it?"

"Not at all. I think Rajinder was quite relieved to escape the constant questions about whether he was in the Taliban or something. He wears a turban as some type of religious symbol. I don't know if you've met Ryan Flannery…"

"We have."

"Then you must have some idea of…"

"We do."

Tony glanced around the office as Gibbs continued asking questions about the day Flannery had supposedly been transferred. There was nothing new or interesting on the walls or shelves since yesterday, although the dish of peppermints on the desk seemed to be pretty depleted. He contemplated reaching forward to take one. It was almost lunch time. His hand crept forward, but he withdrew it quickly when Gibbs turned his head slightly in its direction and turned his attention back to Norton's sales pitch.

"Well, there wasn't any reason given for her to be moved. She received exemplary care, in spite of the fact that we are mainly an elder-care facility. We did everything we could to ensure that Cpl. Flannery was comfortable."

"The medical reports indicated that she was…" Sampson trailed off when all eyes turned to him and buried his nose in his notebook. "Sorry, I…"

Tony smiled after watching Sampson twitch for a moment and looked at Norton. "I think the point that Agent Sampson was about to make was that…well, I thought the doctors at Bethesda said Flannery couldn't feel anything and wasn't going to wake up. So, comfortable is kind of an odd choice of words." Norton sighed heavily and Tony continued, "As long as the bills get paid for the exemplary care, huh?"

"I don't think I need to tell you that this is a business." He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "You have to understand that families are very often reluctant to let go of loved ones, regardless of their prognosis. This was especially true of Cpl. Flannery's family. Perhaps because she was so young," he added as an afterthought.

Gibbs nodded slowly. "Uh huh."

"I really don't know what else I can tell you Agent Gibbs."

"You can tell us where we can speak with this Rajinder guy."

"Rajinder Singh, yes." Norton flipped open a book on his desk. "Yes, he's working today…right now, in fact."

"We'll need to speak with him."

As Norton led them out of his office and through the halls now crowded with senior citizens he said, "I'm sorry if I've led you to any false conclusions. I didn't mean to imply anything negative about him. He's a model employee and the residents all love him. I think some of them think he's a bit of a novelty, but…they do come from a different era."

"We're just exploring every angle." Gibbs grabbed Norton's arm as a man in a turban emerged from a room about twenty feet up the hall. "That him?"

"Yes." Before anyone could stop him, Norton called out, "Rajinder, these men from the government would like to speak to you about…"

Singh took off running the moment Norton said the word 'government.' Tony had been anticipating the move based on the man's wide-eyed stare when his name had been called and had covered half the distance to him by the time Norton trailed off. Tony sprinted, an impressive feat when his expensive Italian loafers and the slippery tile floor were taken into account. He could hear Sampson dodging between various carts, walkers and wheelchairs, fairly close on his heels. Gibbs had probably taken some crazy shortcut that would cut Singh off before he could escape but…Tony pumped his legs faster, trying to close the distance between himself and the escaping suspect. If this guy got away, it was gonna be Sampson's fault.

He crashed into a wall as he skidded a few feet in the wrong direction. Recovering quickly, he ran toward the exit Singh was just going through. If the picture in Tony's head was accurate, there was a high fence encircling the parking lot on three sides that way. As he took his last few strides, he extended his arms and hit the door at full speed.

He cried out in pain as the glass shattered around his hands.

* * *

Ziva sat up on her pallet, managing to yank her gun from beneath the folded pile of clothes as she did so. Amit Stein withdrew his touch and held up his hands in surrender. "Relax, David. I was just trying to wake you up for our shift with the terrorist pig."

"Oh."

"You look a little pale. Everything all right?"

"I was dreaming." She blinked to clear both her vision and her head, convincing herself that it was just a dream, that nothing bad had happened.

Stein wiggled his eyebrows. "Something fun? Maybe about me?"

"Hardly." She pushed him away as she stood.

"I was joking, David. Can't you take a joke?"

She glared at him as she pulled her hair back, shaking off the last vestiges of her dream. "Stein, if you ever have to wake me again, I suggest you tap my shoulder, because if you touch me anywhere else ever again, you will be stuck with a hook instead of a hand."

As he slunk out of the room, she began to change into the previous day's bloodstained clothes. She couldn't imagine why there was still a sense of foreboding hanging over her – Lior had shown her the tests that proved Sahrawi had no communicable diseases. She shrugged it off and stepped over Jen's sleeping form on the way to the door.


	11. Chapter 11

After a brief episode during which he was almost certain that he had kicked all the air out of at least one of the Charger's tires, Gibbs settled for crossing his arms over his chest and watching DiNozzo get the glass picked out of his hands and face. The injuries were thankfully minor, but seemed to be taking a long time to bandage due to the embedded bits and the fact that Tony was flirting with the two receptive female EMTs.

Gibbs turned on his heel and walked to where Sampson was taking furious notes as a nurse talked. He looked up in surprise when Gibbs tapped his shoulder. "Anything?"

He politely dismissed the nurse before saying, "Not yet. Every single staff person here had nice things to say about Mr. Singh and no one can remember anything unusual about Cpl. Flannery's disappearance. I don't think I've spoken to more than one person who actually saw her leave."

"And?"

"And…" he rifled through his notebook, "and Nurse Moore said she saw two men in blue uniforms with Mr. Norton taking Cpl. Flannery to an ambulance on the same morning her body was found at Pax River. She did mention that it seemed very early in the morning for a patient transfer, but she assumed it was all right because Mr. Norton was there."

Gibbs waited, but Sampson didn't continue. "Is that all she said?"

"Well, she gave me descriptions of the two men and gave me her cell phone number, though I couldn't tell if she meant I should call with more questions or if she, er, meant something else." He squirmed for a moment before asking, "What should I do next?"

"Play chauffeur for DiNozzo once McGee gets his ass up here." Gibbs strode back to his previous position, watching Tony sitting on the ambulance bumper. He was frustrated, mainly with himself; he had taken a wrong turn that had ultimately resulted in Rajinder Singh escaping at a dead run down the street when Sampson had hesitated rather than taking his chances against the UPS truck. He couldn't really fault the kid.

Tony whined as one of the EMTs pulled a particularly large piece of glass from his palm with a pair of tweezers. Her partner, who was holding a cold compress against the cuts and bruise on Tony's forehead, immediately joined her in cooing over the wound. He continued to pout while looking at his hands, with an occasional smile thrown in. Gibbs suddenly decided he'd seen enough. "You enjoying this, DiNozzo?"

His smile immediately became a pseudo-serious expression. "Not at all, boss. Did Sammy find out why they didn't spring for shatterproof glass on the doors of the nursing home? This coulda given a whole new meaning to the idea of 'I've fallen and I can't get up' if some lawyer's grandpa had…ow!" Tony turned his attention back to his hands and the two women fawning over him as another sliver of glass was removed.

McGee suddenly spoke at Gibbs' side, "It figures. Right, boss?"

"What _figures_, McGee?"

His smirk was replaced by an alarmed look. "I just meant…well, Tony gets hurt and they send two pretty female EMTs? Do you think someone at BPD recognized the name and send these two as a joke or something?"

In spite of an immediate gut feeling of agreement, Gibbs replied, "No. What I do find funny, McGee, is that I thought I called you out here to help track this Singh guy and all you can do is talk about the people tending your colleague's minor injuries."

"Sorry." He was unable to find his PDA for a few moments as he hurriedly rummaged through every pocket twice. Gibbs cleared his throat, finally prompting McGee to find and begin reading from the device, "Rajinder Singh came into the US on a student visa three years ago, quit college and defaulted on his loans a year after that. He's been here illegally since then." He glanced at Tony, who had moaned again. "That might explain why he ran from you, boss."

"Ya think? Have you found anything that might connect him to our case and not an immigration problem?"

"Well…no. I mean, not yet."

Gibbs exhaled loudly, willing himself not to yell. It wasn't McGee's fault they'd just lost a person of interest. "Does he have a home address?"

"Yes. I called Baltimore PD before I left NCIS and they're sitting on it for us in case he gets there before we do."

"That's good thinking, McGee. Where are your keys?"

"Um, in my pocket?" When Gibbs held out his hand, McGee didn't seem to know what to do. "You, um…you want my keys?"

"Yeah. We're gonna go check out Singh's place and Sampson's gonna drive DiNozzo back to NCIS."

"But I…"

"Shouldn't have driven here in your personal vehicle?"

He hung his head. "I'll go give Sampson the keys."

"Hold on." He grabbed McGee's arm as a patrol car pulled into the parking lot, lights and sirens blaring.

A man with thinning hair and an ugly suit stepped out of the front passenger seat, the badge clasped to his lapel indicating his rank of detective. "Somebody here order a fugitive in a turban?"

Gibbs didn't acknowledge him until he had checked the back seat and confirmed the locals had brought Rajinder Singh with them. "That's our guy. I appreciate the assistance, Detective…"

"Reed. Charley Reed." He had a firm handshake. "You must be Agent Gibbs. So what'd DiNozzo do to himself?"

"Yeah, I worked with him a few years at… There's the knucklehead!" Reed moved toward the ambulance where Tony had added a young aide from the nursing home to his harem of medical personnel.

Gibbs shook his head and opened the back door of the police cruiser, seizing Singh by the elbow. "Let's go."

"Please, sir, I did not mean to break your laws, but it became impossible for me to…"

"We're not from Immigration."

"But you are police, and you will inform them about me."

"We'll see." He sat Singh in the back of the Charger, leaving Sampson to watch him. One problem solved. There was still a chance that the man didn't know anything relevant to the Flannery case and that he had run from people he thought were seeking to deport him, but Gibbs had good feeling about this one.

The ambulance was just departing when he walked over to where Reed was harassing Tony. "Yeah, one of the guys heard your name over the radio and made sure you got the EFTs."

"You mean EMTs?" McGee asked, earning an eye-roll from Tony.

Reed barked with laughter. "Guess you've never worked for an agency that gives its employees a little extra when they need it? Here in Baltimore, any injuries to officers require the attention of the EFTs."

"I still don't…"

"Emergency Female…"

Tony glanced at Gibbs and didn't continue, but Reed crowed, "Titties! Nothin' perks up a guy faster."

McGee nodded but still looked confused. "Isn't female kind of a given?"

"Not in this town, kid." Reed leaned forward and discreetly pointed to a corpulent uniformed officer. "Wouldn't want those funbags comin' at you, would you?"

"Or would you, Probie?"

Gibbs interrupted before McGee could splutter a denial, saying, "DiNozzo, go back to NCIS with Sampson and that Singh guy. Let him cool off in Interrogation until I get back."

"And what about me?" Tony held up his hands, both thickly wrapped in white gauze, and pouted.

"What about you?"

"Well…" He gently touched the small cuts on his face.

"DiNozzo, they used glue to put you back together. As far as I'm concerned, you can still sit at your desk and be useful."

Gibbs left DiNozzo chatting with Reed and walked across the parking lot with McGee on his heels. "The keys?"

"Don't worry, I got them back from Sampson."

"We need to go over to Singh's place and look around."

"Right."

"So…" Gibbs suddenly realized that McGee wasn't going to respond to subtlety. "Give me the keys."

"But…" He conceded after a moment's glaring. "Is there a rule about not taking your personal vehicle to scenes that I should have remembered?"

"Yeah." Gibbs dropped into the driver's seat and took a moment to enjoy the rumble of the engine before peeling out. "It's called common sense, Elf Lord."


	12. Chapter 12

Jenny squinted at the small video monitor in the control room as if attempting to compensate for her lack of Arabic fluency with superhuman attention to body language. She wasn't sure how much you could rely on interpretation of body language on a grainy feed of a man tied to a chair while two Moussad officers circled him like vultures. No, not scavengers – something that hunted, probably in packs. Wolves? A growl through the speakers from the man in the room with Ziva, Stein, spookily reinforced Jenny's impression. She took a step back and resumed her seat.

Major Miner occupied the other seat in the room at the moment. Although he appeared to be unfazed by the events they were witnessing, he did seem annoyed. After Sahrawi shouted what Jenny was pretty sure was a vehement denial, he sulked, "Think they can torture that bastard into speaking English?" When she didn't reply, he continued, "Do we have someone translating this on our end?"

She sipped from her canteen. "I think Ziva has been keeping up on the translations quite well."

"She's on their side."

"It's the same side, Major."

He nodded curtly and turned his attention back to the screen and they watched the proceedings in silence for a few moments. "I will say they're getting the job done. Our guys were too soft and guys like him don't deserve mercy."

"It isn't a competition. It's not like someone is giving out medals for this."

"Good thing, 'cuz they'd win."

"You haven't been particularly excited about working with Moussad on this mission, have you?"

"What's to get excited about? They're civilians who think they're better than we are because they don't have to follow the same rules. I'd like to see any of them last through the first two weeks at Parris Island."

Jenny took a moment to recall Miner's file. "You graduated Annapolis."

"In that case, I'd only give them a week."

"You don't know much about Israel, do you, Major?"

"What can I say? I'm not Jewish."

She waited for the screaming coming over the speakers to end before saying, "They've all served in the IDF. And that was before Moussad training, which, from what little I've heard, isn't exactly a cakewalk."

Miner replied with a thoughtful nod. "Looks like they're switching teams."

Jenny rolled her head around stretching her neck. Ziva walked into the control room a moment later. "Well?"

She took a long drink from Jenny's canteen before answering, "Thirty-six more hours at the upper limit."

"And the lower?"

"I suggest you get comfortable and keep watching, Jen. I'll be in the shower."

Miner snorted. "At least we're ahead of schedule."

* * *

Tony stared at the cup of coffee sitting on his desk and wondered how he was going to go about coping with this molehill turned mountain. When he'd had his hands bandaged the previous day, it hadn't struck him that his relatively minor injuries would be so debilitating; the fact that he hadn't been able to shower that morning or put on a belt had proved the reverse to be true. Only luck and flexibility that could require a trip to the chiropractor had allowed him to button his cargo pants. His experience with his broken arm should have prepared him for this, but that had resulted in immobility of only one hand. Currently, he couldn't do a damn thing that required the least manual dexterity.

As he stared at his hands, resting on either side of his coffee cup, he realized he was wearing mittens. Gauze mittens. And yet he still wasn't getting the freaking day off. Of course, maybe that was for the best. It was hard to operate a TV remote with one's nose.

He scratched his chin with the extreme ends of the fingertips on his left hand, the only uncovered bit of skin anywhere beyond his wrists. He hoped his stubble wouldn't be too noticeable. Gibbs _would_ make him come in and then yell at him for any limitations his injuries caused. If worst came to worst, he could claim he was growing a beard as some kind of protest – world hunger or pollution or the fact that both his hands were wrapped in bandages and Ziva wouldn't be home for another few days.

He did have Sampson chauffeuring from home to work and back, so that was a nice little perk of having no hands for the next few days. It didn't cancel out all the other reasons he'd be thrilled to have use of them, but…silver lining. The only thing that would have been better would be McGee pouting after being ordered to drive him around. Couldn't win 'em all. And Sampson had been nice enough to bring him the coffee that was giving him so much trouble at the moment. Maybe he wouldn't inflict Jardine on him unless she was actually the woman he'd seen in the elevator on his first day.

Tony continued to stare at his coffee. A straw…no, a bendy straw…

"There is no spoon."

He looked up at the sound of McGee's voice. "Huh?"

He grinned in a self-satisfied way. "I never thought I'd come up with one you wouldn't know."

"I recognize _The Matrix_. I'm just wondering why you learned a random movie line to spout at me."

"You seemed to be concentrating pretty intently. I thought maybe you were trying to drink the coffee with your mind."

"You would think that, Probie." Tony gave up on the cup, leaning back to prop his feet up. A little McGee-baiting was just the thing to raise his spirits. "How's the precious Porsche? Did you manage to buff out the scratches on your bumper?"

McGee's smirk disappeared. "I'm taking it to the dealer as soon as we finish this case."

"That's good, because they would be the ones to fix the dent, too. Shouldn't have let Gibbs drive."

"Oh, like you wouldn't have given him the keys," McGee muttered as he made his way to his own desk, shoulders hunched.

"_I_ would have been smart enough not to drive my own car to a crime scene."

"It wasn't technically a crime scene."

"So Gibbs didn't technically scrape your bumper on a Jersey barrier while parking when you didn't technically search the home of a guy who wasn't technically a suspect when…"

"I get it, Tony."

"Relax, Probie. You can afford to have a little body work done."

"My aunt just had plastic surgery," Sampson piped up as he walked through. Although McGee's stubborn glare wasn't quite Gibbs-level, Tony noted that it was enough to scare the junior agent. "Oh, I thought you were…I didn't mean that you need plastic surgery, Agent McGee."

"Don't worry about it, Sammy." Tony stopped himself just short of giving him a friendly but potentially painful slap on the back. "It's what we've all thought about the poor Probie at one point or another."

"Well, um…I…maybe I'll see how your, um, nose job turns out before I make any decisions," McGee retorted weakly.

Tony tested his own glare and was pleased to find it was not wanting. "Hey, this is a proud Roman nose." He turned to the side. "Check out the profile. I could be a classical statue, straight out of antiquity."

"And about as useful," Gibbs griped as he entered the bullpen. Tony appreciated the fact that Gibbs didn't bother to slap him, instead walking straight through and toward the bathroom. He returned to his desk to contemplate the coffee paradox further. He could always just give it to Gibbs, gain some extra credit to make up for the mitten hands…

As he was pondering how he would pick up the cup and hand it to Gibbs, Cynthia walked up to his desk. "Good morning, Agent DiNozzo."

"Hey, Cynthia. Have you come to rain sympathy down on me?" He held up his hands and did his best to look pathetic.

She shook her head with a smile. "Not exactly, although I hope your hands aren't too bad."

"I'm not getting hooks, if that's you mean. Hm." In his peripheral vision, he could see Sampson hiding behind the partition and peeking over it every so often. Mystery solved. Tony grinned. "Although I guess a left-hook would be kinda cool. Maybe with different attachments…"

She interrupted him, "I'd check with our insurer before you do anything drastic. Anyhow, I just wanted to tell you that Director Shepard called to check in this morning and I thought you'd be happy to hear that Officer David is doing well."

He gave her a genuine smile. "Thanks, Cynthia. I appreciate it." He stood and mitten-pointed to the partition. "I don't think you've had a chance to meet our new team member yet. Sammy, come say hi."

Sampson was saved from what was sure to be even more awkwardness after a little shy wave when Gibbs strode back in. Cynthia made a beeline for the stairs. Tony watched Sampson watching her just long enough to earn himself a slap. "So, what's on the agenda for today, boss?"

"Have we made an arrest in the Flannery case yet?"

"Uh, no."

"Then how about we work on _that_?"

Tony tried to pick up the remote, but McGee, with his temporarily superior dexterousness, beat him to it, calling up a picture of Rajinder Singh. "We're forgetting about him, right?"

"He didn't give us anything helpful in Interrogation," Gibbs replied with a glower, "but I'm not convinced he's told us everything there is to know involving the nursing home. We're not handing him over to Immigration just yet."

"So that brings us to Robert Norton," McGee said, supplying the picture. "He's been running the nursing home for the past eight years. Fewer than average complaints lodged against the home in that time."

"Complaints about what?"

"Oh, um…"

Sampson stepped in with a file folder. "Uh, I can…"

"Read it," Gibbs ordered.

"Right." He promptly dropped the folder. After a moment he jumped up with a paper. "Right. It looks like general complaints about patient care. The woman I talked to who deals with these did say that there was nothing out of the ordinary and that all had been resolved. She said mostly they come from families of patients who think things that haven't happened have or people who think they aren't getting their money's worth."

"Is that all?"

McGee resumed, "Norton has a clean record, except for a parking ticket from a few years ago. The staff at Our Lady of Peace is clean too, not including traffic violations or the fact that Singh was an illegal."

Gibbs sighed. "Something's not right." He reached over his desk to answer his phone. "Gibbs." Tony was about to start teasing either McGee or Sampson, he hadn't decided which, when Gibbs' phone conversation became very interesting. "What? Where? We'll be there. Keep an officer with him at all times. And don't touch a damn thing until we get there!" He dropped the phone. "Grab your gear. Coleman McCormick was found beaten half to death at his jobsite and asked for us."

Tony was attempting to open his desk drawer when Gibbs continued, "Not you, DiNozzo. Stay here and…think."

"About anything in particular?"

"About anything that doesn't fit involving this case!" was the shouted reply from the elevator.

As the doors closed, Tony called, "Do you want my coffee?"

He had settled into his seat for some more fruitless staring when the cup was snatched from before his eyes. "See if you can track down Ryan Flannery," Gibbs said, leaving again.

"Sure." Tony focused on his mittens. He wondered if he could recruit Cynthia to dial the phone for him.


	13. Chapter 13

Sampson stood in the middle of the busy hospital corridor as he flipped madly through his notebook, realizing that he was either going to have to write less or figure out some organizational system. He could carry around little colored tabs to code it like a…very small notebook with delusions of grandeur. Maybe a PDA like McGee used would be a better option. He finally found the page he needed, right before Gibbs' glare made the jump from burning to honest-to-God flesh searing. As he read the details they'd gathered at the scene of Coleman McCormick's attack, he couldn't stop his fingers from carefully examining his face for blisters.

Gibbs finally interrupted as he dragged Sampson out of the way of a speeding gurney, "Did anyone know why he was there so early?"

"Um…" Before he could find the information, Gibbs yanked the notebook out of his hands.

"Do you _remember_ anyone giving a reason?"

Sampson shook his head slowly. "One or two of the workers said they saw McCormick's truck when they arrived and thought it was strange that he was there before they were."

"Did anyone remember him leaving the night before?"

"I…" He made a grab for his notebook. "He went out for a few beers with some of the guys I talked to."

"And?"

"He left the bar around six and they assumed he went home, but his watch was smashed and stopped at eight-something…" Gibbs finally relented and handed the pad back to him. "8:54PM, right."

"How can you tell AM or PM?" He held up a bag containing McCormick's personal effects, removed in the ER. "It's an analog watch."

"Um…oh. I guess we can't just assume it was last night, then."

Sampson rubbed his head where he'd just received his first slap. Were they always going to be that hard? Gibbs had started glaring again. "When was the body found?"

"7:30 this morning. Oh."

"His watch was running fine when we talked to him two days ago and none of the guys who went to the bar with him saw anything wrong with it last night."

"But…how did you know to ask? They were already putting McCormick in the ambulance when we got there."

"Use your eyes." Sampson froze in anticipation of another slap, but received only a finger pointed in his face. "And be more confident," Gibbs ordered before stepping away to answer his phone.

Confident. Right. One of his instructors at FLETC had been obsessed with the idea of self-confidence. People will respect you if they see that you're confident in your actions. What had that motivational poster on the wall said? Competence was the first step to confidence. So he just had to do his job and not screw up. Simple.

He left out a puff of air from his cheeks and leaned against the wall. He was definitely surrounded by competence; that was obvious. Even when DiNozzo had gone through the glass door the previous day, he'd had the presence of mind to get up and keep running. And at the scene earlier, McGee had been the one who'd found a bloodied wrench hidden in a nook he, Sampson, hadn't even noticed. Competence leads to confidence. Hell, he couldn't even bring himself to shake hands with Cynthia. He sighed. It was nice knowing her name, at least.

"Hey!"

Sampson's eyes shot open in fear at Gibbs' shout. "Sorry, sir."

"Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness." He looked around and lowered his voice. "McGee found blood in McCormick's truck. What do you think?"

He swallowed hard. "Where in the truck?"

"Both seats in the cab, more in the passenger's seat."

"So…the construction site may not be the primary crime scene?"

"Good. What else?"

"Um, well…I don't remember seeing any signs that McCormick was dragged, so maybe he walked and can tell us what happened to him?"

"Don't jump ahead of yourself. We'll be able to ask once he gets out of surgery." Gibbs checked his watch, but Sampson doubted McCormick would be out anytime soon. One of the reasons Sampson hadn't seen the smashed watch had been a morbid fascination with the mangled leg. "What about the timing?"

"Oh, they left him late at night so…no one would find him? But the wrench…"

"Wasn't taken from the jobsite. But you couldn't have known that because McGee just told me. Come on. We're gonna make sure the nurses know to call us when McCormick can talk and head back over there."

Sampson nodded nervously. Maybe surviving Gibbs' driving was some kind of confidence exercise.

* * *

After cleverly devising a tactic for dialing the phone, Tony tracked Ryan Flannery to a surprising location. The idiot had gotten drunk and punched a Metro detective's boyfriend at some bar in the city; he'd been locked up all night. The officer at the desk had given a pretty colorful description of what had occurred when Flannery had woken up surrounded by a diverse group of fellow prisoners. He was currently in a separate cell, licking his wounds. Tony would be happy to let him and his alibi rot there.

Feeling pleased with himself, Tony elbowed the button for the lab and leaned against the wall of the elevator. He was in the mood for a little coddling and Abby would be sure to oblige once she got a look at his bandages. He practiced a sad-face in the reflective elevator doors. Once he'd received sufficient tender loving care, he could even ask her a question he'd come up with relating to the case. He had been ordered to 'think,' after all.

The music in the lab required him to shout to be heard. "Abby!"

She looked up from her desk, her expression changing from excited to concerned in a flash. "Tony!" He grunted as she crashed into him and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. "Oh! You poor thing! Sammy told me you hurt your hands, but no one told me you had stigmata!"

He smiled over her shoulder. "Well, I'm pulling through it okay, I guess."

"Awww. And you're all alone this week, too! Do you need me to come over after work and help you with anything?" When she pulled back, he wiggled his eyebrows. "Not _that_, obviously."

"Fine, I don't need to brush my teeth."

"Oh, I thought you meant something that Ziva would hurt me for. Well, she'd hurt you more, I'm sure, but I still wouldn't want to any of her ninja moves in action."

"Huh."

"What?"

He shrugged and walked over to the table where her chairs were. "Nothing. I just think it's funny that a few months ago you were practically pulling my pants down to get a look and now…"

Abby perked up. "Did Ziva tie-dye you as a going away present?"

His stomach sank, mainly from the memory of the _incident_, but also because…no, it was just the memory. He spun his chair toward the table, partially to provide a shield for his lap. "Why did I bring that up?"

"Because your Italian Stallion is lonely and won't be getting any attention until Mama Bear gets home?"

"Have you been leaving some of the chemicals uncapped, Abs?"

"No, I'm just bored. McGee called to tell me they were bringing in some evidence and a truck a little later, but…I kinda don't have anything to do before then."

"You could answer a question for me." On sight of her eager face, he added, "About the case."

"Ask away, not-so-handy man."

He frowned, but said, "That test that made you think Comatose Bridget was pregnant…"

"hCG, yeah."

"Whatever. Did you figure out why it was wrong?"

She contracted her eyebrows. "I did not. Ducky was supposed to get back to me on that one after he finished the autopsy, but…you'd think he'd have come up with something by now. I mean, he's Ducky."

"Uh-huh." Tony looked down at his mitten-hands and wondered if a visit with the doctor was in order. "Wanna go see him with me?"

She bounced out of her seat. "Only my own Caf-Pow machine could possibly make me happier."

When they arrived, Ducky seemed more interested in examining Tony's hands than answering questions. Tony endured ten minutes of pain, equally divided between Ducky unwrapping his bandages and Ducky and Abby discussing something that involved a lot of words he'd have to look up in a medical dictionary. Abby seemed a little too engrossed in his wounds once the gauze came off, pulling a small camera out of one of the pockets of her lab coat. "Ooh, look, that one's shaped like a death's head, almost! Cool! And if you squint, your right hand spells out 'vile.'"

Ducky took a more clinical approach. "It appears that these have already started to heal. I can wrap them a little more carefully so you'll have more movement, but you still need to take care not to use them much. If you exert yourself, you could tear the new tissue forming. At least your paramedics seemed to do a thorough job of removing the glass."

As he began a story involving his boyhood in Scotland, Tony interrupted, "I appreciate all the attention to my hands, Ducky, but Abby and I actually came down for something else."

"Right!" Abby popped out of her leaning position, taking her eyes away from his hands for the first time since the bandages had come off; she'd probably gotten enough pictures anyway. "Ducky, did you figure out a reason for the elevated hCG that we found?"

"I did, as a matter of fact. Didn't Mr. Palmer email you the results?"

"Not unless he did it in the time it took me to walk from my lab to your domain."

"I heard Jimmy's been having a little legal trouble lately, if you know what I mean." Tony grinned as he realized Ducky was leaving at least two fingers on each hand free, and that he was re-bandaging all the others separately. "Apparently Agent Lee doesn't particularly like the fact that he gave his mother a key to his apartment. She tends to visit at inopportune moments."

"Mothers," Ducky sighed with a roll of his eyes. He finished with Tony's hands before retrieving the file from his desk. "Right. I noticed a peculiar pathology during the autopsy that I couldn't quite explain, so I sent it for further testing." Tony didn't bother looking at the paper he passed to Abby. "As it turned out, my suspicions were correct. A small tumor was located in the left ovary."

"So…she had cancer?" Tony asked.

"An early stage, yes. My only concern would be that it wasn't noted in any of her charts. Given the cocktail of drugs she was being given, her blood was being tested regularly. For her hCG to be elevated as high as it was at the time of her death, it should have been obvious days if not weeks ago."

"Meaning?"

"Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Or Maryland, as the case may be."

"This means we have to go back to that nursing home, doesn't it?" Tony looked down at his hands.

"It could be worse," Ducky offered.

"Yeah," Abby agreed. "At least you're not Comatose Bridget."


	14. Chapter 14

"So I should bring this to the forensics lab, right, McGee?"

McGee forcibly tugged the cart containing McCormick's clothing and the evidence from the construction site from Sampson's hands. He was tired after processing almost the entire scene by himself after Gibbs and Sampson had followed McCormick to the hospital. There was bound to be an extra Caf-Pow he could convince Abby to give him, especially since Gibbs would likely be bringing her a fresh one when he returned from the coffee shop. "No, I'll take this stuff. You stay here and sign his truck in."

Sampson scrunched his nose up in distaste. "I have to wait for Carl?"

"You're the probie," McGee answered with a shrug as he moved toward the lab. Ten minutes of explanations, hugging and bargaining later, he sipped from his oversize cup as he entered the bullpen to find his chair had been appropriated.

Tony was conversing with a middle-aged man in a suit McGee wouldn't have recognized as cheap a few short years ago. The man seemed to be in the middle of a narrative, "…and we don't normally go out on weeknights, but Shelley needed to blow off some steam after a tough case. I'm sure you know how it is."

"Yeah, man. So, uh, when did the guy come in and start making trouble?" Tony waved off McGee's inquiring look and listened to the man's reply.

"The jerk who hit me?" When he turned, McGee could see a red, swollen area on the man's left cheek. "I guess it was around eight? It was the fourth inning of the Nats' game, anyway. Getting punched saved me from watching those bums lose again, anyway."

"The Nationals scored three in the bottom of the ninth and won, actually. But, about the guy who attacked you…"

"Oh, right. Dude was already drunk when he walked in. He was shouting and cursing. Didn't say a word to me but slugged me the second he got to the bar. Shelley put him on the floor in, like, a second." The man leaned toward Tony and McGee had to strain to hear him say, "I know some guys might not like it, but it is so hot to see your woman take down a guy twice her size like that. Just knowing that she can manhandle a guy like that…whew! Big damn turn-on, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

McGee felt an urge to laugh quickly overcome by an uncomfortable mental image as Tony answered, "No, it's, uh…heh." Tony rubbed the back of his neck with a hand that looked less encumbered than it had when McGee had left. "Is there anything else you can tell me about the incident?"

"I think it's pretty much all in the police report. That guy was just itching for a fight, if you ask me. Is that gonna be all? I really gotta get back to work."

"No, that should be all we need." Tony extended his hand, only to pull it back. "We really appreciate you coming down, Mr. Swanson."

Once the man had disappeared into the elevator and McGee had reclaimed his chair, he asked, "What was that about?"

"Gibbs asked me to track down our favorite PC-challenged pal Ryan Flannery." Tony leaned back in his seat and propped his feet on his desk. "The moron got drunk last night and punched Bill Swanson, who just left and who happens to be dating Metro Det. Shelley Ferrero."

McGee frowned. "Based on the evidence we have so far, McCormick was attacked closer to nine. Didn't that guy just say Flannery hit him around eight?"

"Which tells you…?"

"Look, just because Gibbs is doing the whole critical thinking approach with Sampson doesn't mean you should try it on…"

"Probie, you're stifling my creative process." He brought his hands to his temples and rubbed gently. "Why does a guy walk into a bar and immediately make himself the center of attention?"

"Because he's already drunk?"

"Possibly. But…" Tony consulted a file folder on his desk. "He blew .095 at the precinct. Over the legal limit, sure, but not necessarily falling all over himself drunk."

"It's high enough to cause loss of inhibitions, decreased…"

Tony interrupted, "A buddy of mine once rammed his Camaro into the coach's car outside The Horseshoe after the Michigan game, which we won that year, if you're interested. Anyway, he leaves the keys in the ignition and runs to my frat house. He's the life of the party all night. When campus security finds him the next day, he fumbles around like he doesn't know where his keys are. And he's got over a hundred people that can swear he was nowhere near his car. They ended up writing it off as someone stealing his keys and going for a joyride."

"You think Flannery intentionally made a scene so he'd have an alibi for the attack on McCormick."

Tony grinned. "Aw, and here I was afraid I'd have to add the little numbers that go above the other numbers to make you understand!"

"Fractions?"

"No…"

"Exponents?"

"Just take the insult, McGee!"

He pressed his advantage, countering, "It's a little hard when you don't even know how to deliver it."

Tony held up his bandaged hands. "Don't you think I'm already suffering enough, Probie?"

"What, because you got a few little cuts?"

"Because…" He narrowed his eyes. "Because Ziva is gone for the next few days and now I can't…well…"

"Oh! Stop! I do not want to hear about this!"

"What? The fact that I can't shampoo and or shave for the next few days? Seriously, what is with you and the gutter mind, Probie?"

McGee groaned, realizing he should have quit while he was ahead. He decided it would be best to return to the case. "I think you're giving Ryan Flannery a little too much credit. Even if he did change the time on McCormick's watch to something later to give himself time to create an alibi, it's not like Flannery wouldn't be able to identify him."

"No, no. You have to think like a moron, here. Flannery makes sure he has an alibi for the actual time the crime was occurring because he knows who's actually committing it. Maybe even got some helpful advice to make sure he could place himself somewhere else."

"From?"

"I dunno. His dad? He didn't seem to like McCormick any more than Ryan did."

"So you two have solved the Flannery murder?" Gibbs asked, walking into the bullpen with Sampson trailing him at a respectful distance.

"Not yet, boss. We were trying to figure out how the attack on McCormick fits in."

"I think that'll be a lot easier once we actually talk to McCormick, McGee." Gibbs sat down at his desk and stabbed a few keys with his index finger before turning away from the computer. "Why would Patrick Flannery want to attack Coleman McCormick?"

"Ha! That's the same idea I had!" Tony said. "Great minds, huh, boss?" At the onset of Gibbs' glare, Tony stopped smiling. "Oh, right. So if Flannery had it in for McCormick, it's probably because he thinks he killed his daughter, right?"

"Or it's a conspiracy," McGee suggested. "What if the Flannery family decided their daughter had suffered enough and wanted to put her out of her misery while framing someone they hated?"

"I'd describe that theory as very _Deep Six_, Probie, but that was weak even for you. That was, like, _Deep Two_."

McGee did his best to ignore the barb. "So none of them are involved in her death and they're just blaming each other?"

Gibbs stepped between McGee and Tony. "Get back to the original scene. Abby matched the blood on the wire to Flannery's, so she was definitely chucked over the fence."

"Why would McCormick throw her body over the fence if he had access to the base?" Sampson asked quietly.

Tony circled around Sampson. "If we thought he did it, then maybe to make it look like someone was framing him."

"Unless someone actually is framing him and the scratches on the body were accidental," McGee added.

"Which would make sense if McCormick had still been working at Pax River," Tony said. "He told us, and we confirmed with his foreman, that he'd been off that job for several days before the body dump."

"So, assuming that McCormick didn't do it himself, we're looking for someone who knew he was working at Pax River but didn't know that he wasn't working there anymore? What does that narrow it down to?"

"Nursing home?" Tony suggested. "Ducky did figure out that the reason Abby thought Comatose Bridget was pregnant was because of a tumor that someone at the nursing home probably should have recognized."

McGee grinned as Gibbs slapped Tony. "Is there some reason you didn't mention that a little earlier?"

"What? I found out while you guys were gone! And then the guy Ryan Flannery punched came in and McGee showed up and distracted me with his conspiracy theories!"

Gibbs looked like he was about to start slapping everyone in sight when his cell phone rang. He answered it with a barked, "What?"

As Gibbs turned away to continue his conversation, McGee felt a familiar sensation on the back of his head, but was surprised when Tony was the one to exclaim, "Ow! Damn it!"

When McGee turned, Tony was cradling his hand. "You should be a little more careful with your injuries, don't you think, Tony?"

"Shut up, Probie."

"Both of you shut up," Gibbs said, snapping his phone shut. "We'll get back to the nursing home angle as soon as we can, but for now, McCormick's awake."

* * *

Tony smiled as the nurses at the desk fussed over his bandaged hands while McGee looked on, powerless to obtain any attention for himself. Served him right for rushing down to the parking lot and taking the front seat for the ride to the hospital. Tony wondered if that were the reason Gibbs had taken Sampson in with him to talk with McCormick; it was probably just a training-the-probie gig, but it was nice to think Gibbs was on his side for one of the little things. For once.

"And a bad guy really did this to you?" a cute blonde nurse asked.

"Well, I was chasing a bad guy when it happened. He slammed a glass door in my face and I just had time to get my hands out before I went through it."

She gently caressed the swollen area around the cuts surrounding his left eye. "It's so lucky you weren't hurt worse. Was it scary? I mean, you could have lost an eye or…or… You must be very brave."

He shrugged with self-effacing smile. "It's all part of the job. Sometimes you get hurt, but you just have to get right back on the horse and get back out there. Take me, for example. You would think with injuries like these, I would take a few days off, but, as we're in the middle of a case, I just wouldn't feel right about it."

McGee interrupted, "Gibbs wouldn't _let_ you take any time off!"

"Even if he had suggested it, I wouldn't have taken it," he replied keeping his voice level. He turned back to the blonde nurse. "My friend here hasn't been a federal agent for as long as I have, so he hasn't had time to develop the same level of commitment. Maybe, with time…" He was interrupted again when McGee swatted his arm. "What? I was just explaining…" he trailed off when he saw what McGee was trying to point out. "Excuse us for a moment. Federal business. You might want to stand back."

The nurse's eyes widened and she nodded dumbly. Tony turned his full attention to Patrick Flannery, who looked like he was doing his best to go unnoticed as he moved up the hallway from room to room. He paused at McCormick's door, hand thrust deep into his pocket. Tony tapped McGee's arm, but he didn't need to be prompted to move for his weapon. Tony waited until they were only a few steps away before loudly saying, "Something we might be able to help you with, Mr. Flannery?"

He took an instinctive step back, his hand remaining in his pocket. "I don't want any trouble, now. I just want to see justice done."

"In that case, you should come back to NCIS with us voluntarily right now." Tony was suddenly very glad he'd made his offhand comment to the nurse. "Y'know, avoid making an embarrassing scene in public."

"I don't care what these people think of me," he hissed.

"But you do care about justice, about bringing whoever hurt your daughter to trial." Tony tilted his head to the side and McGee got the message, making a wide arc as he moved behind Flannery. Tony kept talking, "Really, the best thing for you to do is to allow us to do our jobs. We're gathering evidence and we're very close to…"

"Not close enough!" Flannery interrupted. "Did the men who bombed her transport in Iraq get brought to justice? No! And my boy and I both told you who was responsible for this, and you didn't do a damn thing! That prick was free as a bird, having beers with his buddies! And I," he yanked a clumsy old revolver from his pocket, "am here to do what you people won't."

Tony held up his bandaged hands. "We don't shoot people, even if they have done something wrong. We arrest them. If we find proof that Coleman McCormick is guilty, we will arrest him." Flannery didn't reply, so he continued, "Why don't you give us your weapon and we can go back to NCIS and talk about this."

As the gun swung up, Tony went low, diving forward and taking out Flannery at the knees. He heard a loud crash that definitely wasn't a gunshot. When he turned, McGee was on top of the man, wrestling him into a set of handcuffs. There was some kind of suspicious yellowish material splattered over both of them. Tony checked himself and discovered that it was on him as well. "Oh, crap. Oh!"

Gibbs and Sampson rushed out of McCormick's door, weapons drawn. "What the hell is going on out here?"

Tony pushed himself off the floor. "We are covered in something, boss! This is like a biohazard or something, it's gotta be!"

To his shock and horror, Sampson stuck his finger in a glob on McGee's shoulder. "I think it's squash." He gingerly licked his finger. "Yeah. Squash. You knocked over the lunch cart."

Gibbs frowned and helped McGee drag Flannery off the floor. "Don't expect us to thank you for saving us the trouble of coming to find you, Mr. Flannery. Coleman McCormick just finger you for attacking him."


	15. Chapter 15

Ziva opened her eyes, wondering what had roused her at… She checked her watch and realized that she'd woken ten minutes before she'd set the alarm to go off. Cracking her neck, she turned off the alarm before it could sound and made her way silently from the room, conscious of avoiding the sleeping forms blocking her exit. At the door, she allowed herself a smug smile. She could tease her Moussad colleagues that she'd been able to sneak past them, but they would likely claim to have been awake the whole time. Regardless of frivolous rivalries among associates, it was not people sneaking out of this room that needed to be monitored.

The command center was deserted – or nearly so. Ziva frowned at her bad luck. Major Miner was sitting at the main console, attentively watching the feed from Sahrawi's cell. She cleared her throat upon entering the room. The last thing she needed at the moment was a confrontation. He watched her rather than the monitor as she moved to the seat beside him. She made a point of not looking at the screen so as not to appear that she was checking to see that he was attending to his duty. After a moment's silence, she said, "I'd like to make a call."

He settled his hand on a device sitting on the console. "You want to use the satellite phone?"

"Yes."

"Some reason you waited until two in the morning to decide you wanted to make a call?" He removed his hand from the phone as he checked his watch.

"Yes." She didn't pick up the phone, though he was no longer physically guarding it from her. "It is now ten o'clock in Washington."

"Hmph."

She took the grunt to mean assent – as if she had really been seeking his cooperation to begin with – and dialed. The line connected on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

She smiled when she heard the suspicion in Tony's voice; she had forgotten that he wouldn't recognize the number on the caller ID. "Hey, Tony."

"Ziva!" His smile was audible. "How are you?"

"I'm all right. Hot."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

She turned away from Miner's prying gaze as she smiled. "And how are you?"

"Lonely. Someone left me all by myself."

"What are you doing?"

"Eating pizza and watching porn."

"Well, sorry I am not there to experience _that_."

He laughed low in his throat. "I'm sure we'd all be having a much better time if you were."

"We all?"

"You, me and Little Tony."

She rolled her eyes and sighed; she was definitely not going that route in present company. "How is the Flannery case going?"

"Aw, you just called to talk shop? And here I was hoping for some phone sex, because the blonde with the big tits is really letting him down since I started talking with you, and I was kind of at a disadvantage to begin with."

"Tony…"

"Sorry, I just…I really miss you." He continued quickly, not giving her the chance to reply, "We haven't made an arrest yet. Well, I should probably clarify that we haven't made an arrest on the Flannery murder. We did arrest her father for beating up McCormick. Dumbass signed a confession after spending the afternoon in Interrogation with a sleazy lawyer. I think they agreed to plead guilty to a lesser charge because he's crazy with grief or something."

"Is there any evidence pointing to the boyfriend being involved?"

"Not yet. We're heading back to the nursing home to look around some more tomorrow. By the time we finished with Flannery today, it was time for Sammy to take me home."

Ziva quirked an eyebrow. "You're making the new probie chauffer you around?

"Huh? Uh, no, I just meant…it was just…don't worry about it. You sure you aren't up for a little phone sex? It's, like, the third best thing to having you here."

"What is the second?"

"You being here counts as the top two."

"I miss you, too."

"Any chance you'll be coming home early?"

"I doubt it. It's," she chanced a glance at Miner, who made no secret of the fact that he was listening and watching her intently, "on the timetable I told you. I should be home in a few days."

"Can you, uh, speed it up?"

"No."

Tony sighed. "You're staying safe?"

"Of course. Moussad is here, and the Marines. I'll be fine."

Officer Arad's voice suddenly came from the door, "How long has he been asleep?"

Miner answered, "No more than an hour."

"That's enough. Ziva?"

"Just a moment," she replied to Arad before turning her attention back to the phone. "I have to go. I'll see you soon."

"Not soon enough," Tony countered.

"No," she conceded. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Take care, Ziva."

"I will. You too."

"Bye, babe."

"Shalom." She took a deep breath and ended the call before following Arad down the hall and into the cell. An hour later, she reentered the command center after thoroughly washing her hands.

Miner was still sitting at the console. "Didn't look like you asked him any questions."

"We did not."

He nodded in what she could only interpret as approval. "I read part of his file."

"And?"

"I think our people were going soft on him. Asshole doesn't deserve it. I think you people have effective methods." He nodded several more times. "That your husband you called earlier?"

"My fiancé." He pushed a chair toward her and she accepted, sitting. "We work together at NCIS."

He continued to nod. "I've called my wife every time I've been on duty at night." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture, which he held out to her. "That's her with our little boy."

"They're beautiful."

"Mm hmm. He's already four. Haven't seen them in over six months. Haven't seen the new baby yet, either."

"Boy or girl?"

"Another little boy. He was just born about three weeks ago, so I don't even have a picture yet." He tucked the photo Ziva returned to him safely into his breast pocket. "I, uh, was just going to make some coffee. You want any?"

"That would be good."

* * *

Jenny opened her eyes in the gray pre-dawn light. There was something different in the air today. Did that mean today was the day Sahrawi would break? She'd been vaguely aware of the Moussad team moving around her while she slept, taking the overnight interrogation in shifts, making sure he didn't get any restful sleep. She took a deep breath and suddenly realized why she was feeling so positive.

The scent of coffee led her down the hall and into the command center, where Ziva and Major Miner were conversing easily.

"Brand, I hope you won't be insulted if bring this up, but…have you ever read _Catch-22_?"

_I've been asleep so long that they're on a first name basis?_ Jenny thought, hanging back in the doorway to listen for a moment.

Miner laughed. "Are you suggesting the Marine Corps accelerated my promotion and will keep me at the rank of major for the rest of my career for the sheer novelty of it? No, I think that only happens in the Army." He sipped from a coffee cup. "So, to answer your question, yes. I have read it. And I'm not insulted. I suppose it is a little funny."

"But Lt. Col. Miner would have a nicer ring, yes?"

"Can't deny that. My wife wants to have at least one more kid, so every pay grade helps."

Jenny scanned the room and spotted the coffee pot, looking empty and forlorn in the corner. She finally walked in, saying, "Good morning. You two seem to be getting along."

Miner smiled. "Well, Ziva and I got to chatting over a couple pots of coffee last night and found out we've got a lot in common. Director, if you'll excuse me, it's time for me to check in with my men."

"Of course, Major." Jenny poked through the various items surrounding the coffee pot as he left, but was eventually forced to turn and ask Ziva, "Where's the coffee?"

"Behind the…"

"Ah!" She sat in the chair Miner had vacated when the welcome sounds of dripping were audible. "So, you and Miner…"

"He started telling me about his wife and children last night after I got off the phone with Tony."

"You called Tony?"

"Bill Moussad."

"No, it's fine." Jenny was feeling magnanimous now that the coffee was brewing. "How are his hands?"

"Why would I ask about his hands?"

"Well, I just wondered if his injuries were…"

Ziva interrupted, alarmed, "What injuries?"

"He didn't tell you?" A glance at the pot told her Ziva would have to wait a moment for clarification. Once she had the first warm sip, Jenny continued, "When I spoke with Cynthia yesterday she mentioned that Tony had cut up his hands going through a plate glass door in pursuit of a suspect."

"He didn't say a word about it to me. He did mention something about the new agent driving him home, but I assumed it was some kind of fogging."

Jenny had to think for a moment. "Hazing?"

"Whatever. But Tony…"

"Cynthia said his injuries were minor, no hospital or stitches. He probably just didn't want to worry you."

Ziva crossed her arms over her chest. "I cannot _believe_ he did not tell me. Why would he think I wouldn't want to hear about something like that?"

"Ask him when we get back to DC. For now," Jenny tapped a finger against the monitor, "focus on why we're here. Anything interesting happen overnight?"

"Officer Arad thinks he is close to breaking. My estimate would be this afternoon. You're sure Tony doesn't have anything seriously wrong with him?"

"He's fine, Ziva. Can we stay on track here?"

"No amount of your righteous anger is going to make Sahrawi break any faster and, when he does, he may not be able to give us Safad. You sent the NCIS team to pick up the trail and I think they'll be the ones to ferret him out. That is the correct word, yes? Ferret?"

"Yes. Shouldn't someone be in there?"

"And that's my cue." Officer Stein walked into the room. "I didn't mean to listen in, but I thought maybe if you started arguing you might start slapping each other around a little and…right. Sorry. David, it's you, me and that waste of carbon for the next hour."

Jenny settled down with a fresh cup of coffee to watch what happened in the small cell, turning up the volume to hear Sahrawi's screams, curses and moans. She was beginning to have trouble remembering the man who had had her so terrified years before.


	16. Chapter 16

Gibbs drummed his fingers against his desk, staring long and hard at his coffee cup. He knew the contents had grown cold, but it was the best he could do without resorting to the swill in the vending machine. He sighed and took a resigned sip. No matter what the sellers of frappu-latta-chico whatevers wanted people to believe, coffee wasn't meant to be served cold – like some other things. His eyes drifted from Ziva's desk up to the catwalk. They weren't due back for another three days.

He swallowed as much of the cold coffee as he could stomach before reluctantly lobbing the cup and its remaining contents into the trash. Peering out the window into the darkness, he decided that he could take the walk to DC Blend and wait for them to open. Wouldn't be the first time they found him at the door. Megan – was that her name? – would probably spot him the coffee if she were the one opening. He pushed his chair back and stood, making his way to the elevator.

Abby nearly collided with him when the doors opened. She squealed and wrapped her arms around him as she burst into the squad room. "Gibbs!"

"What're you doin' here, Abs?" She performed an uncomfortable impression of a boa constrictor as her embrace tightened when he exhaled as he spoke.

"Where else would I be?"

"Sleeping?" He gently pushed her arms off him and took a deep breath. Consulting his watch, in spite of the fact that he already knew the time, he said, "It's around five-thirty in the morning."

She stepped back and looked at her own wrist to no effect, as she was wearing a spiked cuff and not a watch. After a moment she seized his arm and yanked it to her face. She tapped a fingertip against the dial of his watch before holding it to her ear. "Okay, so it is around five and you weren't pulling my leg! Y'know I read somewhere that, originally, the whole thing about pulling someone's leg had to do with making sure that hanging victims were really dead and…"

He interrupted, "Abby, it's early. Just tell me why you're here."

"Oh, I was processing evidence. I had Coleman McCormick's truck and all the trace from his clothes and the construction site and…I must have lost track of time." Blinking hard, she looked back at him. "Why are _you_ here so early, bossman?"

His eye's made a quick sweep of the one unnecessarily empty desk in the bullpen before moving upward again. "Couldn't sleep."

"Isn't that why you keep the boat in the basement?"

"Wasn't in the mood to work on it."

"Were you thinking about poor Comatose Bridget?"

He dismissed the urge to correct her, grabbing her elbow and steering her into the elevator. "C'mon. I'll buy you a Caf-Pow."

"Just one? But I pulled an all-nighter! Of course, I didn't realize it because I was so busy, but still…"

"Did you find anything?"

"Does the word smorgasbord mean anything to you?"

He held the door open for her as the exited the building into the crisp pre-dawn air. "You found a buffet?"

"Figuratively. I ran fingerprints on the truck and got not only McCormick and Patrick Flannery, but Ryan Flannery's prints. His were only on the handle of the passenger's door, not the inside."

Gibbs thought back to the scene in McCormick's hospital room the previous day; the man had been able to provide them with only vague impressions of being hit on the head and driven somewhere. Patrick Flannery's surprise appearance had been a happy accident. "So Ryan helped his dad move McCormick to the construction site after the initial beating. Is there any way we can arrest him for assault and battery?"

"Only if you count his fingerprints on the bloody wrench and a chuck of his skin picked out of the shards of McCormick's anterior maxillary teeth as damning evidence. Dentistry has really come a long way with implants, so he should be all right in the long run." She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself tightly. "That Flannery guy though. From what Tony and McGee have said, the guy belongs somewhere far away from everyone and…"

Gibbs removed his blazer and draped it over her shoulders. "Is there anything else?"

"A bunch of things to connect Patrick Flannery to the beating, in case he tries to have his confession thrown out or something."

"Won't happen. The guy is just dumb enough to be proud instead of ashamed."

"Oh!" She took a few bouncing steps ahead of him on the sidewalk before turning on her heel. "I finally got something useful from the ambulance you brought me. DNA came back from that glove we found in the ambulance. The fingerprints were too smudged to make a comparison, but the sweat was a match."

He waited a moment before prompting, "A match to what?"

Abby paused at the door of the convenience store. "Rajinder Singh." She grinned in triumph for a moment before transforming her expression into a pleading pout. "Caf-Pow?"

"Yeah." He followed her inside after a glance up the street. The coffee shop was still thirty minutes from opening. Abby made small talk with the clerk, with whom she seemed to be on a first name basis, for a few minutes. Gibbs dropped his bills on the counter. "Keep the change."

He drifted down the street and selected a bench immediately next to the door of DC Blend. Abby joined him a moment later, sipping her Caf-Pow. "Tony told you what Ducky said about the cancer, right?"

"Uh huh."

"So why kill someone who was probably going to die anyway?"

Gibbs tilted his head back and stared at the gray clouds. "Cpl. Flannery was already dead, Abs." She dropped her head on his shoulder and continued to sip her Caf-Pow. Gibbs frowned, still looking up. Although he wanted to plan the line of questioning with which he would confront Singh when the man was brought back to Interrogation, he was having trouble concentrating on the case. There were too many things out of his control to worry about at the moment. It was enough of a distraction for them to disappear, but if something happened to Ziva or Jen or both of them… Time went by slowly and he was almost to the point of regretting giving up his blazer.

A cheery voice suddenly interrupted his dour musings, "Agent Gibbs! I just started the drip coffee. You should have a cup in a few minutes."

He looked up and did his best to smile. "Thanks, Megan. I appreciate it."

Coffee would help him focus.

* * *

McGee let out a frustrated sigh as Tony once again began to talk over one of Rajinder Singh's answers, "I swear this guy was in _Kuch Kuch Hoda Hai_! He played the brother of the girl who…"

"For the last time, I haven't seen it, Tony!" He added in a mutter, "Not that that ever stops you."

"What pissy bug crawled up your ass, Probie?"

"I can't hear what Singh is saying if you don't shut up."

Tony pointed through the glass at the three men sitting at the table in Interrogation. "He's still denying everything and begging not to be deported. Ten bucks says that in the next few minutes, Gibbs will ask Sammy to leave the room and Singh will spill his guts before Sammy gets in here to hear about what I've finally figured out about our nursing home aide slash Bollywood star."

"Since when are you into Indian movies? Did NetFlix run out of regular movies to send you?"

"It's a long story." Tony looked at him suspiciously. "Seriously, McGee, what's bugging you?"

"I got the estimate on the damage to my car."

He laughed and took a sip through the stirrers he was using as straws in his coffee, balanced precariously between left thumb and middle finger. "Must be bad if it's put a best-selling author on the 'most grumpy' list."

McGee suddenly realized his own mood was not the most perplexing one in the room. "What's got you in such a good mood? Besides reveling in my misery, I mean."

He grinned. "I talked to Ziva last night. She couldn't bear to go another day without hearing my voice."

McGee rolled his eyes. "Are she and Director Shepard all right?"

"Other than inconsolable yearning for yours truly… Oh!" Tony pumped his fist – or the best fist he could make with his hands bandaged as they were. "Where's my ten bucks?"

Sampson was indeed leaving the room and Singh was certainly looking more nervous. "I never said I would…"

"Shh!" Tony hissed. "It begins."

"Continues."

"SHH!" Both men turned their full attention to the scene playing out in the room in from of them.

Gibbs removed his cell phone from his pocket and placed it on the table. His calm voice drifted through the speakers, "Mr. Singh, I have two friends at the State Department. If I call one of them, you're flying coach to Mumbai in the next twenty-four hours; if I call the other, you might get a visa renewal, maybe even a green card. It's your choice."

Singh sniffled, "Please, sir, I want to remain in America."

"Does Gibbs have the authority to offer that?" McGee whispered.

Tony shrugged, taking a step closer to him to make room as Sampson entered Observation and walked up to the window. "I don't think he's lying about knowing who to call, if that's what you're asking."

"Who's calling who?" Sampson asked.

"Shh."

Full attention again returned to Interrogation. Gibbs quietly stated, "I know you haven't been entirely honest with me, Mr. Singh. We have evidence that places you in the ambulance that was used to transport Cpl. Bridget Flannery from Our Lady of Peace on a false transfer form."

Singh covered his bearded face with his hands, the tips of his long fingers nearly disappearing into his tightly wound turban. McGee filed Singh away as a potential future minor character for a novel. His hands eventually fell away from his face. "You must understand, Agent Gibbs, that Mr. Norton's brother works for your Customs. Are you sure your friends are more powerful than he?"

Tony stifled a laugh with which McGee was inclined to agree. Something in Gibbs' expression must have been the prompt for Singh to continue, "Very well. Please understand that I did not realize something was very wrong until the death of Mr. Bevilacqua."

"Who?"

"Mr. Paul Bevilacqua. He was a resident at the home for several months when I first began to work there. He passed away quite suddenly."

"Not an unusual occurrence, I assume."

"No, sir, and I would not have found it odd if I had not been gathering his charts and seen a note about a condition I did not know he had. I went to Mr. Norton to ask about it because I feared that I had inadvertently not been giving Mr. Bevilacqua all of his medications. Mr. Norton told me to forget that I had seen such a note and placed the piece of paper in his shredding machine as I watched."

"And this is related to Cpl. Flannery?"

"Oh, yes, sir. Yes. In the time since Mr. Bevilacqua's death, Mr. Norton asked me on three more occasions to forget a patient's diagnosis. I believe that the doctor Mr. Norton pays to work at the nursing home may be incompetent."

"Ya think?" Gibbs sighed. "If you don't start telling me about Cpl. Flannery…"

"I apologize. It is only that it would not make sense when I tell you that Mr. Norton and the doctor were the ones to drive Cpl. Flannery away in the ambulance if I did not first explain about…"

"Yeah. Did you help them put Cpl. Flannery in the ambulance?"

"Yes, sir. He showed me the transfer form. I thought it odd that Mr. Norton and the doctor were taking her to her new home themselves, but by the time I saw the news of her death, Mr. Norton had already threatened to tell his brother about me if I said anything to anyone. Please, Agent Gibbs, will you call your friend now?"

Gibbs was writing, not making any move toward his phone. "Does this doctor have a name?"

"Her name is Dr. Moore."

McGee frowned. "Sampson, didn't you talk to a nurse who saw Norton and two men she didn't recognize moving Cpl. Flannery?"

Sampson was rapidly scanning through his notebook. "Um, I…I have it here, I know. It was…oh, right here." His eyes nearly popped out of his head as he read.

"Something wrong?"

"Is it, um, do you think it could be a coincidence that her name was Moore?"

Tony made a slurping sound as he sucked the last of his coffee through the skinny stirrers. "You wanna give him the coincidence talk, Probie, or should I?"


	17. Chapter 17

Tony wiggled his fingers in the new bandages Ducky had just wrapped for him while McGee and Sampson did the phone and computer work to put together a picture of the Moore woman who had assumed a starring role in their investigation. His new band-aid assisted mobility meant that Gibbs would have to let him come along for the arrest. As he made a fist and realized he would probably be able to grip his SIG, maybe even squeeze his index finger into the trigger guard. Leaving the safety on would be a smart play, though. Would nursing home staff be armed? Probably not under normal circumstances, but they likely weren't murderous under normal circumstances either. Then again, surrounded by old people all day…

As he stepped out of the elevator, he bumped into McGee, who had his backpack and coat. "We going?"

"You're coming?"

"If we're going, I'm coming."

"Gibbs told you you're going? Or coming?"

Tony provided McGee with a headslap to unfreeze his main computer. "It's not an Abbott and Costello routine, Probie. Are we going to pick up Moore and Norton or aren't we?"

"_We_ are."

He turned away from McGee, as he was already aware that What was on second, and was confronted by Gibbs and Sampson. "Hey, boss. Am I coming with you guys?" He held up his hands. "My manual dexterity is up to about eighty percent, which means guns but not pens."

Gibbs regarded him seriously until the elevator began to beep loudly in protest for being detained with its doors open for so long. "I don't know, DiNozzo. Are you just gonna stand there with a dumb look on your face or are you gonna grab your gear and be in this elevator before the doors close?"

He was just squeezing between his desk and the partition that seemed to have gotten much closer when McGee called, "Later, Tony!" through the closing doors.

"You wish," he muttered, ignoring the sharp pain in his hands as he crashed through the fire door and into the stairwell. He hit the ground running after a few successive, sure to be repeated rides down the narrow banisters. By the time Gibbs, Sampson and McGee walked into the parking lot, he was leaning against one of the cars, well on the way to catching his breath.

Gibbs nodded with poorly concealed grin. "We'll meet you and McGee at Our Lady of Peace."

Tony yanked open the passenger's side door of the car McGee unlocked and sank into the seat with a triumphant flourish. This ride was going to be fun. "Guess I'm still too fast for you, Probie, even when you've got Otis on your side."

McGee carefully adjusted the mirrors and seat with his jaw set. "Agent Billings delayed us in the lobby."

"Disappointed you aren't leaving me in your dust? I'm sure you'd be in a much bigger hurry if you could see me standing on the sidewalk in your rearview."

After a quiet pass through the main gate, Tony was about to try pushing some more buttons when McGee asked in an extremely annoyed tone, "How _did_ you make it downstairs before us?"

"I've got a lot of pent-up energy since Ziva left. Guess I didn't realize how much I dedicated to…"

"Stop!"

"What?" Tony laughed at McGee's eternal discomfiture. "Why do you never want to steal those little tidbits for Tommy and Lisa?"

"My readers don't want to see graphic…"

He interrupted, "Since I know the next word isn't violence, may I ask why you think your readers don't want sexy details about their favorite couple? I know your editor was complaining about it, but you're the one who decided to hook them up and go on and on about them. It's kind of a let-down to your faithful fans if they never…"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"I'm just trying to assist the literary genius."

"Well, don't." McGee made a sharp turn onto the highway, clearly trying to catch up to Gibbs, who was barely visible swerving between cars a few hundred yards ahead. "I don't think he's even using a turn signal!"

"If you're gonna change the subject, maybe you could at least tell me what you and Sammy found out about this Moore woman." Tony looked at his gauze-covered palm and made a loose fist quickly. He must have reopened one of his deeper cuts when he'd hit the fire door. "So?"

"There wasn't anything major."

"So she's a real doctor?"

"Not exactly. She attended medical school at the American University of the Caribbean on St. Maarten. She completed the didactic portion of the curriculum, but not the clinical. She never even took any licensing exams either, not even for nursing."

"Foreign med school? So she has money but doesn't have brains."

"I didn't see her transcripts, but…"

"People don't go to med school in the Caribbean because they love snorkeling, McGee." He looked at his hand again; the red spot on the gauze didn't seem to be getting bigger. "Did she have any previous relationship with Norton?"

"The head of the nursing home? Why would she?"

"Would you hire some stranger with no diploma to provide 'medical care'" he took a brief pause as the air quotes he included caused him to wince, "for the old people you're fleecing?"

"I wouldn't be running a crooked nursing home!" McGee protested, missing three chances to cut into another lane. "Stupid semi!" He actually shook his fist at the vehicle ahead of them before glancing at Tony. "Sorry, I just…"

"Don't turn that fist of fury on me, McRoad Rage. It's really best not to bottle it all up. That little outburst does not, however, explain why a highly trained NCIS field agent wouldn't bother to answer the most basic questions when doing a background check, like how Norton and Moore knew each other."

"Gibbs didn't give us a chance to! And don't you think it's better that we pick them up sooner rather than later so they don't have a chance to destroy records and…"

"They've had a couple of days, so if they haven't done it already, I don't think an hour or two matters at this point." Tony reached over and patted McGee lightly on the shoulder. "But I wouldn't worry too much. You can finish doing your homework on them while they sob to themselves in separate rooms before the real terror begins."

* * *

Sampson strained his neck, looking up the street as he followed Gibbs up the walkway toward the nursing home. "Agent Gibbs, should we wait until…"

"They'll be here in a minute. I don't want one of our suspects looking out the window and getting suspicious if they see us hanging out in the parking lot."

"Oh, right." He nodded, mentally kicking himself for not realizing such an obvious detail. Another question sprang directly from the back of his mind to his mouth with an unwelcome lack of hesitation, "But what if…"

"C'mon, Sampson. You've seen both of these people. You think the two of us can't take them?"

"When you put it that way…"

"Confidence, Sampson. Keep working on it." Gibbs paused with his hand on the door handle. "Just don't get cocky."

"Like DiNozzo?"

"What makes you think he hasn't earned the attitude?"

"I…don't?" Sampson realized he'd said the wrong thing and did his best not to cower as Gibbs pointed him through the door. He hadn't even meant it in an insulting way. He would give almost anything to be able to demonstrate DiNozzo's or even McGee's demeanor. Trailing behind Gibbs as he walked purposefully, Sampson wondered if fieldwork wasn't the best career choice. There were plenty of other options. Less exciting options, like…he glanced into one of the patient rooms they were passing. Bedpan orderly. At least he wouldn't be frightened of screwing up in front of his boss.

His fear took a backseat a moment later when he plucked the sleeve of Gibbs' blazer and whispered, "Agent Gibbs? I think just saw Moore in the room we just passed."

"Don't think. Know." He turned and looked around the jamb. "Good eyes, Sampson." He pointed into the room for some reason. "You get Moore."

"By myself?"

Gibbs gave him a funny look. "No, you're with me, Sampson."

He glanced over his shoulder and saw DiNozzo and McGee standing behind him. DiNozzo winked. "Make sure he lets you lead Norton out. Steering people in cuffs takes some practice." He patted Sampson on the arm before entering the room and announcing, "Janine Moore! Would you like us to call you doctor until you're convicted of impersonating one?"

Sampson missed the rest of what looked to be an interesting arrest when he noticed Gibbs was halfway up the hall and had to jog to catch up with him. When they arrived at the appropriate door, Gibbs said, "Get your cuffs out." He threw the door open without knocking. "Robert Norton, you're under…"

Sampson froze a step into the office, but reacted when Norton jumped off his desk. He caught the man around the waist with only a few inches of slack remaining in the belt he had wrapped around his neck and a thin support strip of the drop ceiling. Before Sampson could ask for advice, Gibbs was climbing onto the desk with his knife out. "Hold him steady while I cut him down."

"Sure…boss." He almost lost his hold on Norton at the unconscious slipup, but Gibbs didn't even seem to notice. Boss. That wasn't so hard, really. He bent his knees as he felt some give and set Norton on the floor.

The next few minutes flew by, with Sampson almost unaware of his surroundings as they led Norton to the car in handcuffs, blubbering all the way through the halls. It wasn't until DiNozzo clapped him on the back and exclaimed, "Your first case and you've already saved a life! Not bad, Sammy!"

His euphoria over having done something not only right, but well couldn't even be overpowered by Janine Moore's earsplitting screaming, "You tried to _kill_ yourself, Bob? You coward! You stupid, gutless…" Her mouth continued to move in the window as McGee shut the door on her tirade.

"This is going to be a fun ride back," DiNozzo grumbled. "Think we'll even have to wait until we get back to base for them to roll on each other?"

"You could take good notes, just in case," Sampson offered. DiNozzo looked down at his hands and frowned.

Sampson was about to apologize for the joke when Gibbs shook his head with a smile. "Like I said, Sampson, confidence."

"Feel free to be confident at Probie, too, though. Don't feel like it always has to be me."

"But you make it so easy, Tony," McGee said.

While he was on a roll, Sampson asked, "Should we take the records before we go?"

DiNozzo looked up from where he was pulling a clean piece of gauze over a red patch. "I thought we already had all of Comatose Bridget's stuff."

"We do," Gibbs confirmed before turning to Sampson. "Cpl. Flannery is our responsibility, but either BPD or the FBI is going to take over the case on any other victims of these two. Don't try to do too much."

"Right."

Gibbs got into the car before Sampson, who just caught DiNozzo's comment, "I bet he wouldn't be so eager to turn a case over if it didn't have that awful nursing home smell."


	18. Chapter 18

"Because I was scared of a lawsuit!" Bob Norton sobbed, his face never appearing from behind his hands.

"As opposed to…prison?" Tony asked, his voice rising into a mocking tone on the last word. "Getting shanked in the yard? Being the special friend of a guy named Bubba?"

McGee, leaning against the wall in the conference room, was inclined to agree. Tony's near-constant sarcasm since sitting down at the table notwithstanding, it had taken them less than five minutes to convince the man that confessing everything was the smartest course of action. No wonder Gibbs had taken Janine Moore down to Interrogation to teach Sampson a few tricks; if her attitude during the ride back to NCIS were any indication, she was going to be difficult just for the sake of being difficult. McGee would take signed confessions motivated by eye-rolling any day. That reminded him… "Mr. Norton, can you get back to work on your account of the events leading up to Cpl. Flannery's death?"

"Yeah, Bob." Tony looked as if he was about to slap Norton on the shoulder but thought better of it. He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "Y'know, that's the thing that's really bugging me about this whole thing. Why'd you have to pick on her? I met her once. She was quiet, didn't complain. Just kinda hung out all _comatose_."

"I told you, I was afraid the family would bring a lawsuit against my facility for negligence. Do you know what kind of hit that is for a business like mine?"

"Probably not as bad as going down for murder, Bob, but, then, I'm an NCIS agent and not a con man who kills old people and comatose Marines."

He was standing now, leaning ominously over the conference table. McGee took a step forward. "Tony…"

"You're right, McGee." He withdrew quickly, balling his hands into loose fists. "I should have Ducky take a look at my hand."

McGee grabbed him before he could leave. "Can you just relax and we'll get this done as quickly as possible?"

"I don't want it done fast."

"As in you want to be here all night processing paperwork?"

"As in now that we don't have to worry about solving the case, I don't have anything distracting me."

McGee was tempted to blurt out a snarky comment about co-dependence or unnecessary concern, but he was afraid Tony would counter it with something about Tushkevich – a point that would be both somewhat valid and totally classified. He sighed and released Tony's arm. "Can you just stay here and be quiet until Norton is finished?"

"I can do one." He resumed his seat and began to stare at Norton.

Eventually, the man looked up from the legal pad he was filling up. "I…what's going to happen to me once I finish this?"

"Did I not mention Bubba?"

Twenty frustrating minutes later, they handed Norton off to be booked and made their way back to the bullpen. Tony was being very quiet, so McGee made an irritated sound in the elevator. When he got no response, he made a louder one. Tony finally replied testily, "What?"

"Nothing."

"Either you need the Heimlich or it's something, Probie."

He was momentarily tempted to agree to the former, but said, "You've been ticked off since we got back with Moore."

"Like I said, I'm no longer occupied and I'm now free to concentrate on who I could be in the elevator with, uh…riding the elevator with."

McGee needed no explanation of the pause. "She's _fine_."

"I don't know that."

"If something had happened, we…um…" he trailed off as he realized he should never have put the idea into Tony's head that something had happened. "Look, Ziva and Director Shepard are only supposed to be gone a week, right? So in a few days they'll be…"

"Y'know, I think I will go see Ducky."

McGee allowed Tony to shove him out of the elevator. He hoped whatever Ziva was doing was being resolved as quickly as Comatose Bridget's death.

* * *

Ziva propped her feet on the console in the control room, mildly annoyed by the scene playing out in front of her on the monitor. She was confident that Sahrawi had been giving completely honest answers for the past few hours, at the very least, but she had stopped trying to convince Jen that this was the case. She didn't want to accept the worst-case scenario that Sahrawi really could not lead them to Safad. Ziva sighed, realizing that it was going to be a very long flight home – hopefully soon. She wanted a shower, a meal and Tony, in that order.

Thinking back to her conversation with him the previous…had it been only a day? Maybe a day and a half. Checking her watch proved to be little help. Regardless of how long it had been, she was still eager to get home to him, especially if he had injuries. Although he did tend to get needy and whiny, she had to admit, if only to herself, that she wanted to be there to take care of him as well as he'd done for her. She took a sip of water and hoped there wasn't anything weird or unhealthy about that. Was it really so bad that she wanted to…

Tamir interrupted her train of thought, for which she was thankful. "How much longer is she going to do that?"

Ziva watched Jen deliver another ineffectual slap to Sahrawi and shrugged. "I think she is just working through some issues. Anything she does to him at this point will just feel like sandfly bites."

He laughed. "Ah, the eternal wisdom of Moshe the Interrogator. Did you believe everything he told you during training?"

"Would you be able to do your job if you didn't?"

"Point taken." To her surprise, he sat down beside her. "How much longer will this take?"

"I believe she will tire herself out eventually."

"She isn't a rambunctious four-year-old."

Ziva saw her chance to reopen the conversation Tamir seemed to have been avoiding with her for the past few days. "Had you and Roni discussed having children?"

Tamir coughed on his water. "No! Not really, I mean. Nothing seriously, just vague speculation. Well, what…what have you and your boyfriend decided about it?"

"We've already decided that we are not ready. We have not ruled it out, though," she answered honestly. "But we are talking about you and Roni."

"There is no more me and Roni." He sighed. "I suppose it was too much to expect that you'd forgotten. Or that you would just let it drop."

She ignored the accusation, but didn't counter it by reminding Tamir that seeing him reopened old wounds of her own – old ones only tangentially related to him, but still painful. She decided to offer him an out. "I could speak with someone if you would prefer to spend more time at home."

"That's just it. I like my job. Well, not every aspect, but…"

"You do not have to explain it to me," she interrupted before falling into a reflective silence. Duty required you to make difficult sacrifices, required you to risk both the lives of your friends in the field and relationships with the ones left behind. There was little value in a relationship in which one partner demanded major changes of the other. If one were willing to volunteer, it was another matter entirely, and she had been willing to take a desk job to… She blinked, wondering why it was any concern of hers at this point and wishing Tamir had never inadvertently reminded her of Jacob. She had Tony, who hadn't asked her to change her lifestyle beyond begging her not to go on the current mission that she hadn't really wanted to be involved with anyway and… "I think I need a drink."

Tamir produced a flask from one of his cargo pockets, apparently pulled from his own disquieting reflections. "Good suggestion."

They both took several generous sips before she said, "You'll find someone."

"Inside Moussad, though, right?"

"Even that is not a guarantee."

"That boyfriend of yours that hit me…"

"Jacob, yes."

"I heard he…"

She closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to see the package that arrived at Moussad one day with her name on the address label. She had ended it with Jacob long before that, but the fact that Hamas had sent his head to her meant…she swallowed hard. "Overnight Express."

"What?"

"Yes, he was beheaded, and yes, we know because they sent his head…"

Tamir interrupted, saving her, "Have another drink. As much as you want."

"Don't mind if I do," Stein said, appearing in the doorway. "Officer Arad is going to give Shepard another ten minutes, then he's going to start shutting this op down." He snatched the flask out of Tamir's hand and took a long sip. "I heard the Marines who aren't transferring the prisoner are going to be sticking with us from now on. You going to stay too to make up the difference, David?"

"No." She yanked the flask from his hand and wiped it before taking a sip and returning it to its owner, annoyed that Stein, who likely never thought very hard about anything, had nailed her insecurity of the moment without even trying. "I will be returning to Washington in…ten minutes, did you say?"

"Come on, David. Give me a chance to show you something special before you go."

She rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. It is in your pants."

"And it wants to be in yours," he answered with a wink.

"Even if you had not reduced your already questionable appeal by prancing around naked at every opportunity over the past few days, the answer would still be no."

Stein reacted to Tamir's snickering rather than Ziva's refusal. "Oh, like you ever had a chance with her."

"I never…"

"You told me you thought she was hot."

"Any idiot would realize that. I never said I wanted to…"

"Just because you never said it doesn't mean you don't want to f…"

Ziva was spared from being a witness to competitive male posturing when Officer Arad walked into the control room. "What are you all doing sitting around? You are supposed to be preparing to leave!"

"All ready, sir," Tamir answered, hurriedly shoving his flask into his pocket.

"I have no doubt that you are, Officer Tamir, but _you_, Officer Stein…"

"On it, sir." Stein skulked away, shooting Tamir a nasty look.

Arad fell silent, watching Tamir and Ziva. After a few moments, he held out his hand. Tamir obediently handed over the flask. "Thank you." Arad took a quick drink and passed it back. "I know Moussad doesn't put an emphasis on sharing, but really, Ariel," he paused as Maj. Miner stepped into the room. "Tamir, go check in with…just go. And leave that." He tugged the flask from Tamir's hand as the younger man left.

Miner shut the door. Ziva pursed her lips. "I cannot change Jen's mind, so do not ask me to."

Arad chuckled. "You would know why we wanted a private word. The Major came to me when he found out he and some of his men were being assigned to this mission on a permanent basis."

"Permanent until Safad is apprehended," she amended.

"Right. We simply…"

Miner interrupted, "Ziva, it's only fair that we know why we're being told to focus on this one terrorist when there are plenty of other guys out there who are just like him."

"You have seen the file?"

"These men killed her partner, yes? Special Agent Curtis Lavoie? " Arad asked.

"Yes." Ziva took a deep breath, not wanting to break her promise to Jen and reveal too much, but…her gaze drifted to the video monitor. Arad and Miner at least deserved to know why the director of a US federal agency was mercilessly beating a man strapped to a chair. "It isn't just about Lavoie, though. It took almost three days to organize the rescue op and she was with his body the entire time." There was plenty of detail contained in the sealed files that had never been shared with NCIS, and more that Ziva had not even shared with Moussad. An extremely abbreviated account would have to do. "Jen doesn't even remember all the things that happened to her…"

"She wouldn't be in there like that if she didn't remember anything," Miner argued. Ziva noticed that he was watching the screen with a chagrined look.

"I believe Officer David said that Shepard did not remember everything," Arad said quietly. "Is there something more you can tell us?"

She tore her attention away from the screen. "She…Jen feels like this is personal, not that it is not, but…"

"But it always is when it has happened to you," he provided, eyeing her carefully. "And you, Ziva? I believe the report I received stated that these terrorists were planning to purchase you from…"

"Any personal connection I may have felt for this mission was eliminated on Elba. While I agree that it is important that we apprehend Safad, I would not call him our most pressing threat."

"Very well. Major, would you care to inform Director Shepard that her time is up?"

Ziva held up her hand. "I'll do it, Lior."


	19. Chapter 19

Jenny did her best to avoid meeting her own eyes in the dusty mirror as she washed her hands in the bathroom sink, exhausted from the past half-hour of activity. No wonder Moussad had been working in two-person teams and switching off fairly often – not that they had been able to find out anything of particular value, as far as this mission was concerned. Any intelligence recovered from Sahrawi at this point was a bonus, or would be if he'd been able to lead them to Safad. Without that information, it was…a waste. She shook her head and directed all of her focus on her fingers. There was something stubborn under her nails.

Her mind began to wander as little flecks of _something_ began to give way to whiteness. Ziva was excited about returning to DC early, there was no question about that, and the Moussad team was eager to get moving again, that was clear, but it was the reaction of the Marines that had surprised Jenny most. Maj. Miner had been looking to Ziva and Officer Arad for permission when Jenny had ordered him to prepare the prisoner for transport a few minutes before. Had she gone too far or was he going native? He'd certainly been chummy with Ziva over the past day or so. Jenny inspected her fingernails until she was satisfied they were clean. Her hands, though…

There was nothing _wrong_ with taking a few minutes to personally question a terrorist and she hadn't done anything nearly as painful as some of the things she'd watched happening on the monitor. And Sahrawi deserved all that and more after what he'd done in Cairo – and anywhere else he may have operated, but _especially_ Cairo. Was there really anything wrong with vengeance when it led to apprehending terrorists? Was there? She splashed brownish water on her face before returning her attention to her hands. She had scrubbed them enough times already, but another round with the soap couldn't hurt.

"Out damned spot?"

She spun around at the unexpected voice to see Ziva leaning against the doorframe. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Since I dragged you here from the interrogation room five minutes ago."

"You did not drag me." Although that would certainly explain why Miner had been reluctant to follow her order. "Did I cross the line?"

Ziva shrugged. "You beat a man tied to a chair and now…" she gestured toward the sink. "I think going home is the best thing you can do for yourself right now."

She gave her hands a final going-over with soap and water before shaking the water off them rather than drying them on the towel that looked like it would require even more intensive hand-washing if one used it. "For the record, we're not cutting this trip short because…"

"Because we accomplished what we came here to do faster than expected? Or were you going to take a cheap shot about Tony and I?"

Jenny scowled. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. You may want to change first. They are making a fire out back where you can throw those clothes."

She looked down and saw that she was covered in a fine spray dark red, with a few larger splotches. "Damn it. Is that what you did with your clothes?"

"Not yet."

"Right, you've been too busy standing there and judging me."

Ziva shook her head slowly with a look that made Jenny feel like she'd just missed the punchline of a joke even a child would have understood. She followed as Ziva silently made her way to the large room they'd all been sleeping in for the past few days and dismissed the leering Moussad officer with a nod. She collected the bloody clothes she'd been wearing while working and moved toward the door. "I will meet you in back."

"Ziva, wait." She hurriedly stripped and put on a fresh shirt and pair of pants that were just as overly formal and out of place as the ones she'd just taken off. Why had she been so eager to wear her Director persona into the desert? She collected the ball of clothes to be disposed and joked, "Now I'll have to wash my hands again."

Ziva didn't respond, again leading the way as they walked through the house toward the back, where the smell of smoke was becoming noticeable. She tossed her clothes into the fire, causing it to brighten momentarily in the growing twilight, and turned on her heel, taking a step to the side to avoid colliding with Jenny on her way back inside. Jenny was more deliberate, making sure her shirt and pants landed in the center of the fire, where it was hottest. She watched the material seem to dissolve as it burned. It didn't make her feel any better than hitting Sahrawi had.

She turned back toward the house, but something stopped her from entering. Voices. A motor outside the front door, the sound carrying over the roof. The Marines were moving the prisoner. Grabbing a long stick from the pile of wood beside the door, Jenny returned to the fire, shifting the unburned leg of Ziva's pants deeper into the flames. She didn't want to see Sahrawi ever again if she could help it. That was over. A pop from the fire seemed to demand her full attention.

"Do not stand too close, Director." She looked up as a wooden chair landed in the flames, thrown by the less overtly horny Moussad officer. He slipped his hands into his pockets and stood beside her. "Stein is stuck bleaching the room."

"I'm sure it needs it."

"Are you all right, Ma'am?"

She turned to look at Tamir – that was his name! – and encountered an expression filled with concern and perhaps some curiosity. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Well…you…you have been very intent on resolving this mission since you have been here and…"

"And now I'm moving on."

He sighed. "It is hard to move on sometimes."

"What are you trying to say, Officer Tamir?"

"What? Oh, sorry. I was thinking of something else."

She tried to stare him down, but realized that it wouldn't work on even the seemingly least experienced member of Moussad. Then again, Tamir's apparent shyness had disappeared during the interrogation of… She snapped her head around and turned her attention back to the fire. The motor grew louder for a moment, accompanied by the sound of crunching gravel, before it began to grow fainter. "It doesn't matter. It's over."

"Yes. And maybe it is for the best."

"For now," she added in a mutter, walking away with the feeling that she and Tamir may not have been discussing the same topic.

* * *

Tony put on his best fake smile and threw an arm around Sampson's shoulders. "Sammy, you're the hero of the day! You saved a life! The least you can do is let us buy you a beer!"

"I don't know…"

"Aw, come on. We'll go over to O'Reilly's and drink a toast to the memory of Comatose Bridget, if you wanna think of it that way." He tightened his grip on the nervous man's shoulders. He was planning to do some drinking tonight anyway, and it always seemed less depressing when you had other people around. "If you say no, it'll be like, uh…"

"I'll have one drink, okay?"

Tony immediately released Sampson and swiped the phone off McGee's desk. "Hey!"

"Relax, Probie, you're invited, but since Abby wasn't here to listen in…" He paused as the line connected and she delivered her official greeting. "Abs! We're goin' drinking!"

"Oh, Tony, I have…"

"All day tomorrow to catch up on your lab stuff. O'Reilly's, ten minutes. Let Ducky and his hunchbacked minion know!" He hung up before she could reply and took a deep breath before turning around. "And, boss, you know…"

"Rain check." Gibbs stood and buttoned his blazer. "Be here at 0700 tomorrow. Hangover is not an acceptable reason to call out."

"Don't worry, I'll keep McGee on Shirley Temples." Tony looked up toward a movement that caught his eye on the catwalk and interrupted whatever insulted defense McGee was mounting, "I gotta take care of something, but I'll meet you guys downstairs."

It was only a few more days, and while he could afford waking up with a headache, he could think of one thing that might make it more bearable. He took the stairs two at a time and burst through the door into the Director's anteroom. "Hey, Cynthia…"

She looked up from the stack of files she'd just set on her desk. "I haven't heard from Director Shepard, so I can't give you any new information, Agent DiNozzo."

"What, you just assume…" He looked down to make sure his transparence wasn't a physical reality. "Okay, so…uh, it wasn't the only reason I came up here."

"Then what can I do for you?"

He smiled as the answer shoved its way to the front of his brain. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Would you like to get a drink?"

"A drink?" She tensed visibly. "With you?"

He spotted his mistake too late and wondered how long it would take for people to forget he wasn't that guy anymore. "Well, not like _that_. I mean with me and McGee and Abby and Ducky, but most importantly, Sammy."

Her level of 'flustered,' which had been decreasing as he'd ticked off names, seemed to spike again. "The new agent?"

"Yeah. You met him, right?"

"You introduced us."

"Well, on his first day he saw a pretty girl in the elevator and, based on my superlative investigatory skills, I've narrowed it down to you."

"Agent DiNozzo…"

"Tony," he corrected.

"Tony," she amended with a frown, "I don't want to be a part of this if it's just some prank."

"Why would I pull a prank on you?"

"Not on me. On your new probie."

"Cynthia, you can't believe all the rumors you hear from McGeek." Tony decided full disclosure of his hastily formulated plot would be the only way to break through her dubious expression. "While I will admit that it will be amusing to see Sammy cower in fear the moment you walk into the bar, he's a good kid. He's even been driving me around since my hands got cut up and… Look, I'm not asking you to do anything you're not comfortable with. You can talk to Abby about death metal for ten minutes and leave. You don't even have to come at all if you'd rather not. I just thought I'd make the offer."

She considered him for a moment. "All right. I'll come if I don't actually have to talk about death metal."

"Okay, we're heading to O'Reilly's."

"Around the corner from the main gate?"

Tony winked. "Just…let him down easy if you're not interested." He didn't wait to read her expression. The lightness left his step as he walked out of the office and got a bird's-eye view of the bullpen. Although everyone's desks were now empty, one looked more deserted than the others. He sighed. Three nights of drinking wouldn't fix how he felt, but it might help him forget for a little while. As he was leaving, he gently switched off the lamp on Ziva's desk that he'd turned on that morning.


	20. Chapter 20

A/n: **M rated content** warning for the second part of this chapter only. First and third parts rated T like rest of fic.

* * *

It was nearly five in the afternoon, DC time, when Ziva finally got home. The moral high ground was hers, so she waited until the chauffeured car had turned the corner before she started picking the locks to get into the lobby of her apartment building. She could wait for someone to come out, but…she was already inside. She tucked the small tools into her pocket and dragged her suitcase to the elevator. Giving in to gravity, she sat on it while she waited.

The flight from Morocco had been long, and made even longer by a detour to drop off the Moussad team and the remaining Marines in Tripoli, where the NCIS agents were hunting Safad. Jen hadn't been able to volunteer fast enough when the jet Moussad was sending had to be diverted for an emergency pickup; her excitement indicated she obviously didn't understand how big a problem was when Moussad began calling it an emergency. What Jen had really wanted once they got there was to hang around, breathing down the team's collective neck as they tried to do their job. She'd even gotten a sucker punch in as Ziva had tried to get her back onto the plane. They hadn't spoken since.

Touching the swollen area around her left eye only for a moment, Ziva forced herself to stop thinking about Jen and the mission as she stepped into the elevator just as a cool breeze blew through the lobby. She groaned internally when she turned and saw a realtor walk into the lobby with a young couple and moved away from the console where she had been firmly pressing the 'close door' button when they got to the elevator before the door would comply. She knew it was considered rude, but she would actually be doing them a favor. Almost a week in the desert without a proper shower was…well, enough to ruin the best sales pitch. She pressed into the corner with her suitcase.

"Thanks so much!" the woman in the blue blazer said with a bright smile as she led her clients into the small compartment, quickly covering the scowl that flashed across her face when she surveyed Ziva. "Oh, and look, our floor is already pressed," she said to the couple. "Well, this apartment that we'll be looking at won't be available for another three weeks, but I think you're really gonna like it! This building was designed with big open spaces and all the finest…here we are!"

Ziva walked slowly behind the group, cursing them as they stopped at the door directly across from hers. The realtor was going on and on about the features of the building and the neighborhood. The list lacked any mention of potentially murderous next-door neighbors. Ziva relaxed her grip on her SIG, hidden under her jacket, and waited until the door had closed behind the house hunters to pick the locks on her own door.

The apartment smelled like pizza and Tony after two days without a shower. Wait. It was just his normal cologne in the air. The lack of showering was definitely her. She called his name and received no answer. Flipping on the hallway light, she saw an open pizza box containing two uneaten slices on the coffee table, along with several empty beer bottles. She was about to clean them up when she thought better of it. She pushed the closet door open instead, finding a stack of dirty laundry on top of the washing machine. "I know I'm back early, but…really?" she grumbled, pushing the pile to the side.

The smell of the desert was even more evident when she opened her suitcase. She tossed everything into the washer with no regard for color or fabric. After a moment's thought, she kicked off her boots, stripped and threw the clothes she had been wearing in as well.

* * *

Finding a drinking buddy was more problematic the second night, but Tony realized he had the deal almost done when Sampson agreed to walk upstairs with him. The kid owed him one anyway – if not for Tony, he'd be alone next Friday night instead of taking Cynthia to a nice dinner at Valentino's. Still, a little encouragement never hurt. "Sammy, it's no big deal. I've got plenty of beer and you just finished your first case with us!"

He frowned and brought a hand to his temple. "That's what you said last night."

"No, I mean…all the paperwork that brings the official conclusion to your first case. Just have one. It's the least I can…" Tony trailed off as the door swung open.

Ziva looked at him critically as she stood in the front hallway, the washing machine closet open. "What did you do with the detergent?" It took him a moment to realize that she was completely, utterly and absolutely naked.

He stepped inside quickly, slamming the door behind himself. "I owe you a beer, Sammy!"

Sampson's voice was thin through the door. "Should I…?"

"Just leave!" Without waiting to hear if Sampson complied, Tony made a rush for Ziva, sweeping her into his arms. "You told me you weren't coming home early!"

"And you told me you were fine, in spite of the fact that your hands are bandaged and your face is cut."

He silenced her with a long kiss. "Doesn't matter. Just tell me you're staying."

"Mmmmm."

He looked over her body before pulling her more tightly against him. "Who hit you?"

"Jen." She touched her eye gently. "She was upset."

"That's no reason to…"

"Stop."

He dismissed his anger, focusing instead on the blood rushing to choice locations of his body as he ran his hands over Ziva. "God, you are filthy."

"I…haven't had a chance…to take a shower yet." She returned his kisses with an ardor that pleased him.

"I can tell. You stink."

"That is what happens when you don't have an adequate washroom."

His hands found their way into her hair. "That why your hair is all oily?"

"At least I do not have lice."

His lips trailed down her neck. "And you taste like dirt."

"If you get off me, I could fix that with a shower." She struggled to get out of his embrace. "Tony, seriously."

"Oh, no. I'm not letting you go for the next few hours, at least."

She managed to fight him off long enough to lock herself in the bathroom a few minutes later. Her voice was much farther away than he wanted it to be as she spoke through the door, "Fifteen minutes. Just give me fifteen minutes and then I'll be ready."

He stood staring at the door for the first two minutes, eventually deciding that he couldn't pick even the simple lock with his hands bandaged the way they were. He took his time getting undressed, but that only took an additional minute. Walking naked downstairs, he made sure the front door was locked and poured detergent into the washing machine. A week after moving in they'd discovered running the washer while the shower was on had no effect on the temperature, so it wasn't like turning it on could drive her out of the bathroom. He sighed and turned it on anyway. By the time he returned to the bedroom, it had to have been at least seven minutes.

He was lying on his back on top of the covers two minutes later when the bathroom door creaked as it swung open and soft, soapy scents filled the slightly steamy air. He made a move to get up, but she held her hand up, freezing him on the bed as she slowly walked toward him. He sighed happily. "Glad you didn't take the full fifteen."

"Or the full week?"

He reached out when she got close enough to touch. "I think that goes without saying." He found the bandages prevented him from touching as much of her as he wanted, so he stood, pressing against her as he wrapped her in his arms. "I know you weren't gone that long, but I missed you."

Her nails lightly scratched his several days worth of stubble. "Because shaving wasn't the only thing you couldn't manage on your own after you were hurt?"

"No, I…" He wanted to convince her that he had missed more than just sex, but their current state and his arousal weren't doing anything to help that case. He decided to settle on talking afterwards, no matter how much he wanted to go to sleep. He pulled her back onto the bed, saying, "I am gonna make love to you all night long."

To his surprise, she pulled back from where she was nibbling his neck with her lips. "What?"

"Is all night too long? Because, I mean, we can take a dinner break and, uh…"

"Shh." He immediately kissed the fingers she pressed to his lips. "I guess I am just not used to hearing you say it like that."

She kissed him deeply and he wondered what he'd said to earn smiles like she was now giving him as she moved to straddle his hips. She was warm and wet when she sank onto him, grasping him tightly from the moment they started. He settled his hands on her hips as she began a slow rhythm designed to torture and satisfy them both for the maximum amount of time. As the pace increased, she leaned her upper body forward, her wet hair making isolated spots of chilly contact wherever it made contact with his skin. He pulled her down closer to feel the warmth of her covering him.

She slowed again and he complied, not yet at the point where he was willing to let it end. Her tongue worked against his skin where her face was buried in the crook of his neck. He forced his hands away from her ass, moving them slowly up her body. He lifted her head gently and felt his patience begin to grow shorter as they kissed intensely.

She propped herself on one elbow, creating an angle at which he felt like he was moving even deeper in her. With one arm now around her waist to ensure she didn't pull too far away when they were so close, he placed his other hand on her cheek, encouraging her to maintain eye contact. She breathed his name and he felt himself unable to hold back when her scream followed shortly after. He clutched her against him, still seeing her even when his eyes reflexively squeezed shut.

He stopped her from rolling to the side a few moments later and she didn't resist, allowing her full weight to relax on top of him. He yawned in spite of his promise to himself. "Ziva…"

"Shhhhhh." The breath that hissed between her lips was cool against the slick skin of his chest. He reached to his side and flipped the half of the comforter they weren't on top of over their bodies before he lost all desire to remain awake.

* * *

Ziva opened her eyes and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was nearly ten. No wonder her stomach was rumbling. She tried to pull away from Tony's embrace, but he tightened his arm around her, pressing against her back as he spooned her. "Tony, let go."

His grunt and continued grip were not an acceptable response.

"I have to pee!" she protested, trying to shove his arm away.

He growled, "Mine." She reached over her shoulder and poked him in the forehead. His grasp loosened. "Hey!"

"Thank you!" She leaped out of bed, ignoring his pleas to come back, and locked the bathroom door behind her again, just in case. When she was washing her hands a minute later, she grimaced as she got another look at her black eye. Jen probably hadn't even gone home, but proceeded straight to MTAC to annoy Arad and Miner some more. Ziva was inclined to believe that she wouldn't even apologize for the punch.

As she leaned toward the mirror, Ziva had to admit that she was surprised Tony hadn't been more alarmed. Of course, she hadn't paid much attention to his injuries either. And it had been totally worth it. She smiled and made her way back to the bedroom.

Tony watched her quietly as she slipped into a robe. "So you don't wanna…" He threw the covers off rather than continuing his suggestion and nodded below the waist.

"Later. Right now I need something to eat."

He bounced out of bed and pulled a pair of boxers on. "That is a fantastic idea. I'm starving."

"Apparently. You didn't even wait for me to ask you to put some clothes on."

He yanked a t-shirt over his head as he followed her downstairs. "I know how you hate naked mealtime."

"Because you 'spill' things on yourself and want me to lick them off!"

"I'd lick anything off you."

She felt that he hadn't quite calmed down when he stood behind her as she stared into the refrigerator. "How much take-out did you need while I was gone?"

"Well, I couldn't cook, not with my hands all wrapped up…"

She turned without having found anything to eat. "Why didn't you tell me about that? It happened before I called you the other night."

"It's nothing. It's more inconvenient than anything else. And I didn't want to worry you while you had to be focused on…well, I wouldn't have thought you'd be worried about Jenny attacking you, but…"

Ziva rubbed her face. "I had hoped things would have been resolved by this trip, but I'm afraid it may have made things worse."

"Hey, none of this is your fault."

She rested her head on his shoulder, thinking about the Cairo mission that had set off Jen's involvement in this whole mess. "You do not know that."

"And you can't tell me?" he asked sarcastically. "No, I didn't mean…Ziva, don't beat yourself up over this. Jenny's a grown woman who's making her own calls on this one. It's not your job to…to…"

"Right." She didn't let herself get too into the kiss before turning back to the refrigerator. "I said not until I've eaten something." She tried to escape from his embrace. "And not _that_."

"Maybe later?"

"If you behave."

He nuzzled her neck. "I'm glad you're home."

"So am I."

The End

A/n: Thank you so much for reading, and especially for reviewing. I have no idea what happens now.


End file.
